


Seeking Security

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Trans Character, Unrequited Love, crushes on straight friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 119,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is not-quite-happily slacking his way through college, living off of his wealthy parents and ignoring the impending doom that will be graduation and getting cut off. His friends accept his facade of joviality at face value, not quite seeing the signs of depression and alcoholism.</p><p>Then the Musain hires a beautiful new barista with a whiff of tragedy clinging to him, and Grantaire's comforting familiar existence is entirely disrupted. Also, he can't seem to convince the barista that he's not sexually harassing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire was hauling a backpack stuffed to the breaking point with books and article printouts and a massive portfolio as he tried to edge his way into the Musain, which understandably impaired his visibility, and as a result he almost knocked some poor kid to the ground. The kid was unencumbered and much more nimble, so he managed to sneak around Grantaire and get the door for him.

“Sorry...uh, thanks,” Grantaire mumbled sheepishly. The kid glared at him, rolled his eyes, and then walked up to the counter without saying anything in response. Grantaire watched him for a few seconds. He tried to be annoyed, but the guy had a very nice ass and wavy blond hair, and, well, he'd always had a fondness for blonds. He could be very forgiving where blonds with nice asses were concerned.

He shook it off, then hauled his gear to the back room where several of his friends had pushed together tables for a group study session. They were gearing up for finals and found the gatherings at the Musain helpful for keeping them on track. Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Bossuet benefited greatly from having Prouvaire and Combeferre shaming them into doing their work, and the slackers helped remind their uptight friends to relax and take study breaks before the point of panic attacks.

Grantaire was mostly there for the social aspect. His portfolio was in pretty good shape and he banged out decent enough papers with minimal effort at the last minute. He planned on doing a little reading at the cafe while his friends worked, and he needed to highlight some quotes to use for his papers, but it wouldn't take his full concentration. He'd never had much luck with friends until college, and had filled his solitary adolescent years with lots of reading, which put him ahead of the curve in most of his classes. He found paper writing much less challenging than his peers did and was content with an easily earned B over an agonized A.

“Hey guys.” He took a seat next to Courfeyrac, who had two empty mugs in front of him and had yet to open his backpack. His smartphone was perched between the two mugs. A quick glance at the open text conversation informed Grantaire that Courfeyrac was seeking a more amorous alternative to the study session with a girl from his comp class. “Working hard, I see.”

“Eh, I've only got one in-class exam so far. Most of the professors are opting for take homes.”

“I prefer the in-class ones,” Bossuet said mournfully. “They always grade so much harder when they let you take them home. And no one ever believes you if the file doesn't attach to the email properly the first time.”

Grantaire took out a few notebooks and an article he needed to skim so that he'd have the illusion of productivity, draped his heavy coat over the back of his chair, and then ambled up to the counter to get a drink to serve as his table-rent. The blond kid he'd walked into was waiting at the pick up area, anxiously drumming his fingers and darting worried looks towards the door that led to the owner's office periodically.

The baristas were busy with a short line so Grantaire distracted himself by covertly checking out the stranger. He felt a little bad about it; the kid looked _young_ , maybe even high school aged, so it really was a bit pervy. Grantaire blamed the bone structure. He was such a sucker for those finely formed cheekbones, not to mention the elegantly arched brows. And the kid was a natural blond, which wasn't overwhelmingly common in their neck of the woods. He was a bit gaunt and malnourished looking, but beautiful all the same. Grantaire hoped he sat near them once he got his drink. He'd like a chance to sneak a sketch of the kid's eyebrows.

The kid was still waiting even after the line in front of Grantaire was all served. Grantaire ordered his drink and chatted with the girl who rang him up while her coworker made his latte. While he was talking to Louison the manager came from out back and approached the blond kid. “Okay, so it checks out. You're not a minor, so I can schedule you for closing shifts. But you have no work history. You know how many kids like you come in here looking for work? Why should I hire someone with no work history, even if he is twenty years old and can work a closing, hm?”

“I have completely open availability. Please, just give me a try. I'm a quick learner and I work hard. If I don't work out just let me go again. But it's the holiday season. You must need extra workers for the Christmas shopping rush.”

Louison handed Grantaire's change to him and then strolled over to the pickup area, standing just next to the manager and eying the blond guy with interest. “Hey, kid, can you work Tuesday nights?”

“I can work whatever night you need me.”

“Oh my god, Nick, hire him or I'm quitting right now. I have been trying to get Tuesdays off so I can have a night with my son for almost a year now! And you know we've been short and absolutely screwed on Sundays. I will train him myself and you know I'll make sure he works out.”

“C'mon, Nick!” Grantaire called. “Lookit the skinny little thing. Give him a job so he can buy a decent meal.”

The guy turned a look of disgust Grantaire's way. “My dietary needs are none of your business.”

“See? He's already telling Grantaire to shut up. He'll fit in fine!” Louison enthused. “Grantaire heckles everyone, by the way. We all tell him to shut up. He doesn't mind.”

“What if I want him to mind?”

Louison laughed, even though it was fairly obvious the kid wasn't joking. She reached around the counter to hold out her hand for a shake. “I'm Louison. I'll be training you.”

“Excuse me?” Nick tried to look affronted but he was also grinning.

The kid took Louison's hand and gave it a hesitant shake. “Enjolras.”

“Enjolras...” Nick looked him over. “Fine. We'll try you out. Come back tomorrow morning. We open at six. Girls, make the kid a drink. I've got some paperwork he can fill out for us tonight. You got your social security card with you too, Enjolras?”

“Yes. I handed it to you with my ID after I filled out the job application.”

“Right, right. I'll get them from the office for you.”

Nick shuffled off again, and Louison resumed her post at the register. “Enjolras, what do you want me to comp you for?”

“Huh?”

“You get a free drink a shift, three if you work a double. Nick said to give you one while you do your paperwork so what do you want?”

Enjolras' eyes widened. He gazed at the menu. “God, it's been awhile. Can I have a chai? No, wait, or do I want a macchiato...no, definitely a chai.”

There was something off about Louison's smile. “I'll make it with whole milk. Grantaire might be obnoxious but he has a point. You look like you could do with a few good meals.”

“You can tell from the bone structure,” Grantaire said. He leaned against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “The kid's supposed to be lean, but this is skin and bones. You've gotta be close to ten pounds underweight, right Enjolras?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Do you want something from the bake case?” Louison asked. Enjolras' eyes darted in that direction in a telling manner before he asked if that would be comped as well. “No, but I can spot you.”

“Ah. I'd better not, then.”

“I got it,” Grantaire said. He reached into his pocket for his wallet. “I've been meaning to try one of those peppermint bark cookies anyway.” He turned to Enjolras. “What do you want?”

“I'm okay, really.”

“Peppermint bark for me and a chocolate chip for him. He's a fucking pod person if he doesn't like your chocolate chip cookies.”

Louison giggled. “Agreed.” She bagged their cookies while the other girl, a seasonal hire Grantaire wasn't on a first name basis with yet, made the chai. “Here, Enjolras. It's easier not to argue with him. Don't worry about it. Grantaire buys cookies and drinks for everyone eventually. He's very generous that way.”

“Much to my father's dismay.” He handed Louison the debit card provided him by his parents and grimaced, reflecting on the tense Thanksgiving dinner discussion they'd had about his continued inability to manage his finances. To be fair though, his excursions to the Corinth with Bahorel and Bossuet had a lot more to do with that than the treats he bought at the Musain.

“Well, thank you. I'll pay you back after my first payday,” Enjolras promised.

“Don't worry about it. It's two bucks. If you really feel bad, it can be my apology for hitting you with my portfolio and teasing you about your weight. I wasn't trying to be an ass about it. My assholishness is always accidental.”

Enjolras smirked, and it was one of the prettiest things Grantaire had ever seen. He was suddenly very grateful to Nick for loudly announcing that Enjolras was not, in fact, a beautiful piece of jailbait. He was only a couple of years younger than Grantaire. His interest in the guy wasn't even pervy.

Enjolras was far too pretty and proud looking to be interested in a jovial alcoholic mess like Grantaire, but at least he didn't have to feel bad about checking the kid out. Grantaire saluted Enjolras with his drink and then headed to the back room to sit with his friends.

“What took you so long? You weren't bothering the new barista, were you?” Bossuet asked.

“Huh? Actually, I didn't really notice her. She was making the drinks and you know how loud the steamer gets. No, I'll introduce myself properly and make a pest of myself tomorrow. They're hiring a new kid named Enjolras. I was making an idiot of myself to him,” Grantaire explained. “The kid's fucking too pretty to be real. Wait until you see him.”

Bahorel made a face. “Not my type. Why'd they hire another dude?”

“Bahorel, they've only got like two guys working here. Besides, maybe the fact that you sexually harass all the baristas was added impetus to hire some men,” Bossuet suggested.

Combeferre scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration and set his text book down. “Is anyone actually studying? Because if you're all going to talk about girls again all night then I'm going to head back to the library.”

“Me too,” Prouvaire muttered without looking up from an intimidating looking collection of Victorian essays.

“We're not going to talk about girls all night, thank you very much. There are gays and bisexuals present and right now I'm talking about guys. Courf, you should have seen the ass on this kid. He's definitely underweight, but his ass is still nice and perky in the skinny jeans. It's like magic.”

“This guy you were bothering, he wouldn't happen to be a tall, lanky blond with a glare that can peel paint, would he?” Courfeyrac asked. He was looking with amusement at something behind Grantaire's back.

Grantaire let out a loud bark of laughter and then turned in his seat. As expected, Enjolras was standing a few feet away from him, pale skin sporting an angry flush and hard blue eyes set in a glare that could definitely be described as paint-peeling.

“Sorry.” Grantaire tried to look sheepish but he didn't quite pull it off since he was still trying not to laugh. “I thought you'd do your paperwork in the main room.”

“The tables are all full.”

“Look, it's nothing to get huffy about. I didn't say anything mean. I just observed that you have a spectacular looking ass, which is entirely true.”

“I'd rather not be objectified by strangers, if you don't mind.”

Grantaire held up his hands disarmingly. “Sorry. I'll try not to be the creepy guy who always hangs around your work. From now on, I will never mention your amazing looking ass ever again. Do you accept my olive branch, Enjolras?”

Enjolras turned a pleading look to Courfeyrac. “How do I get him to stop talking to me like this?”

“Dunno. I've been friends with him since we were freshmen and I still haven't figured it out. He's harmless though. After a little while you even start to enjoy his company.”

“That's why we keep him around,” Bahorel said. “You can stop him by telling him you're straight though. He only hit on me the one time.”

“And if you're gay but not interested?” Enjolras asked.

“Pretend to be straight?” Bossuet joked. Enjolras actually took a step backwards, a deeply disgusted look on his face that startled Grantaire. The conversation definitely wasn't as playful for him as it was for Grantaire and his friends.

“Guys, you are seriously not implying that Enjolras needs to lie and closet himself for me to respect his boundaries, right?” he asked. He got up and walked Enjolras over to an empty table a couple down from theirs. “Look, I'm sorry you overheard that. I didn't realize you were right behind me.”

“That doesn't make it okay, to talk about people that way. And you have no business talking about my weight.”

“I know. You're okay though, right? It's just...look, I'm an art major and I've already done the figure drawing classes and studied a lot of anatomy. It just doesn't look like a healthy weight loss to me, okay? It looks a bit sudden.”

“It's none of your business,” Enjolras repeated icily.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, I'll be good, I promise. I know guys like me don't stand a chance with guys like you. I know no means no. I'll try to be more respectful, okay? I was just caught off guard. You're...something special, I guess. So yeah. I'm gonna go drink my coffee and probably draw your eyebrows because they arch really awesomely. If you want to join us after you fill out the paperwork, feel free. We're going to be here a lot so you might as well get used to us if you're going to work here.”

“Grantaire?” He'd started to walk away but the hesitant tone brought him back. It sounded odd, coming from Enjolras, who'd been nothing but guarded and snippish with him so far. “I'm sorry too. I haven't been having a very good week. Or month, really. I think I might have overreacted. I really do have issues with people objectifying me though.”

“Yeah, that's something I don't really have firsthand experience with.” Grantaire waved a hand to encompass his face and grinned. “It's probably as old and grating to you as the ugly bastard shit I get. No hard feelings.”

“Th-thank you for the cookie.”

“You're welcome. Anytime. Seriously, join us when you're done. I'll introduce you to everyone. You seem like a serious sort. I bet you'll get along great with Prouvaire and Combeferre. They should be due for a study break by the time you're through with the tax forms and stuff.”

“Okay. Um...have fun drawing my eyebrows? I guess?”

Grantaire laughed, bit back on calling Enjolras adorable on the off-chance he found that as unpleasant as hearing about his nice ass, and went back to his own table. He kept his voice low this time, hyper aware of the fact that Enjolras was only sitting a few tables away from them and could easily eavesdrop on their conversation if he wanted to. “Oh shit, guys. I'm in trouble.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Bossuet said. “He is very handsome, isn't he? Isn't he a bit young for you though?”

“No, he's just got a baby face. He's twenty.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac smirked and kicked Grantaire under the table. “Yeah, you're in big trouble then.”

“Yup. I think I just fell in love with that guy.”

 

* * *

  
Grantaire had (mostly) been joking when he said he loved Enjolras, but the next couple of weeks saw the statement inch closer and closer to sincerity. The guy was more intoxicating than any of Grantaire's favorite vices. In fact, Enjolras was in real danger of becoming _the_ favored vice. He was addictive. And painfully enough, just as aloof and uninterested as he'd been the first time they'd met.

He was warming up to the others well enough. It looked like he and Combeferre had developed nerd-crushes on each other. Combeferre was constantly loaning Enjolras books while Enjolras returned the favor by recommending articles and blogs for him to look through. Enjolras spent all of his breaks at whatever table Combeferre was occupying. Grantaire might have been jealous, except for the fact that they never discussed anything but politics and general nerdery with each other. Somehow, Combeferre was impervious to Enjolras' charms, and Enjolras himself didn't seem at all attracted to their brainy guide. Grantaire felt conflicted. On the one hand, yay. Combeferre wasn't competition. On the other hand, Combeferre was a put together, mature kind of guy who Grantaire had crushed on a little when they'd first met. If Enjolras wasn't attracted to him, there was _no way_ he was ever going to be interested in Grantaire. Combeferre was downright dreamy in comparison.

Enjolras had also developed a rapport with Prouvaire, which was particularly odd to see considering their poet and Romantic with a capital R was the shyest, most withdrawn member of the group, and Enjolras was the most direct, almost caustic young man any of them had ever seen. But the opposite temperaments worked for each other, and on the rare day Combeferre was stuck at school or picked the library for his study time instead, Enjolras sat with Prouvaire and discussed literature. Prouvaire gave him almost as many books as Combeferre, though Enjolras worked through those ones a lot more slowly.

He had good conversations with Bahorel and Bossuet about their legal classes, revealing to their embarrassment that they paid more attention to said classes than they liked to let on, and Enjolras' idle chit-chat even brought out a responsible side of Courfeyrac Grantaire had rarely seen. Get the guy going about social issues and suddenly he was a well read fucking adult with researched opinions and ideas about saving the world. Grantaire hadn't really noticed, considering the closest they'd come to discussing LGBT+ social issues together was trading tips for picking up guys and bitching about the awkwardness of coming out to their parents.

Grantaire wished he could go back those couple of weeks and give himself a good guff upside the head for the first impression he'd made to Enjolras. He seemed to be stuck with it now. Enjolras was quickly becoming friends, actual, sincere friends, with all of Grantaire's buddies, but he was always awkward and formal around Grantaire. He knew it was his own fault, but nothing he did seemed to help counter that horrible first impression. He limited himself to only checking Enjolras out (leering, Enjolras called it) when the guy was busy making drinks and therefore less likely to notice, he never mentioned Enjolras' perfect ass again (at least...not while he was sober - when he was drunk his mouth tended to get away from him) and he certainly never accused him of being underweight again, even though if anything he seemed to be losing weight despite bringing home cafe goodies every night.

He didn't seem to be sleeping very well either. There were shadows under his eyes and the poor kid just looked really drawn most days, despite the work perk of regular caffeine. Grantaire was worried about him, but every time he tried to express his concern it was somehow construed as sexual harassment, which was the opposite of what he was going for.

Grantaire mentioned some of his thoughts to Combeferre while they were once again sitting at their usual pushed together tables, Grantaire sipping from a coffee he'd spiked while Combeferre drank some kind of festive peppermint concoction. “Maybe you could check in on him and see how he's doing. He always gets mad and calls me a pervert when I try.”

“When you ask Enjolras how he is you focus on his looks.”

“Well he looks like shit.”

Combeferre just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, but it looked like it cost him some effort. “Look, Enjolras is private. If nothing else, you must have picked up on that by now. Whatever he's going through, he's not interested in sharing it with us and that's his right. We still barely know him.”

“But we're his friends.”

“We're customers. We're friendly with him but we've never hung out outside of work.”

Grantaire took another sip of coffee and considered that.

“Grantaire, please don't do anything stupid.”

“What? What makes you think I'm going to do something stupid?”

Combeferre lost the battle with himself and not only rolled his eyes but also let out a frustrated sigh. “Don't ask Enjolras to go to the Corinth with you and Bahorel.”

“I wasn't going to-”

“R, you can lie to yourself all you want but you're terrible at lying to me.” Combeferre nudged his coffee. “And that's doubly so when you're tipsy. You're not fooling anyone, by the way. Your flask is sticking out of your backpack.”

Fully aware of how petulant he was being, Grantaire sank into a sulk. “Well why can't I ask him to hang out with us outside the Musain? He likes the rest of you guys. Why wouldn't he want to?”

“R, you've never asked any of the other baristas to hang out after work.”

“So?”

“So...Enjolras will notice that you're asking him out because of your crush. And we started this conversation with you asking me for help because you're making Enjolras uncomfortable. You're making him uncomfortable with the crush, Grantaire. He doesn't like that kind of attention.”

“I...I know.” Grantaire drained the rest of his coffee and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Relax, 'Ferre. I'm just going for a refill. I'm pretty sure I can keep from sexually harassing Enjolras while asking him for another cup of coffee.”

Combeferre didn't seem to have as much faith in Grantaire, based on his expression. Grantaire shrugged it off, and still feeling a bit whiny and contrary, went into the main room and approached the counter.

Enjolras had been talking to his coworker, another new hire named Azelma, but he tensed up when he saw Grantaire. His expression turned to one of his defensive porcelain masks; very handsome and cold looking, but cold in an artificial customer-service sort of way. “Hey. I can't believe you guys are still here. Finals must be nearly finished by now.”

“Oh yeah, the legal kids finished last week. But us art kids and the humanities kids still have a few left. You'll see us either way though. We just hang out here all the time anyway.”

“Oh...” Enjolras' mask slipped a little, but his expression was still difficult to read. “I suppose it's not a bad thing, but do you mind if I ask why?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Prouvaire's a coffee snob and he likes it here, and Courfeyrac likes the macchiatos. I just come here for something to do, really. If I weren't seeing my friends I'd probably be sitting in my room in my underpants chugging cheap vodka and binge watching Netflix.” Ugh...why did he say that out loud? “Uh, right. Anyway can I have another coffee?”

“Sure. Dark roast, right?”

“Yeah. Better make it half-caf though. I might want to actually go to bed tonight.”

Enjolras was only occupied with the refill for maybe a minute, and in that minute no other customers came up to the counter. Azelma had gone off to refill the milk pitchers, leaving Grantaire as alone as he could be with Enjolras in a reasonably busy cafe.

He knew he should have listened to Combeferre. Let the rest of their friends suck Enjolras into the group. They might not be hanging out outside the Musain _yet_ , but with how needy and codependent the group could be, Enjolras would be joining them at other hangouts eventually. It was only a matter of time. Let someone who didn't repulse him make the move.

But Grantaire had never really had much luck with impulse control.

“Hey, Enjolras? I was, um, I was just thinking. Maybe you'd want to head over to the Corinth with us sometime? It's just, we never see you outside of your work. It might be fun to hang out when you're not wearing a black polo shirt.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “Oh. Um, well, I don't know about going to the Corinth. I'm not twenty one yet.”

“They don't card. Come to think of it, though, they might card you. Shit, well we should still hang out. Courf's probably going to do something at his place for Christmas. He usually does. You want in?”

“He already invited me, actually.”

“Oh. Are you coming?”

“I'm still thinking about it. I might be working. I've been picking up a lot of shifts.”

“Well you should come. Don't work yourself to death, y'know? You're already so bony-sorry. I was going to do the...I should stop talking now.”

Enjolras leaned across the counter and tapped Grantaire's arm, stopping him in his tracks. He'd been about to retreat for the back room but at that hesitant touch his attention was fixed to Enjolras. His skin felt like it was on fire just from the gentle brush of fingers, even though there was a barrier of good sturdy cable knit sweater between their skin.

“Grantaire, if you want to see me after work sometime, that's fine. We could even hang out tonight. I'm out at nine.”

Grantaire stared at Enjolras in shock. He couldn't have heard that right. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“I'll still be wearing my black polo shirt though.” He smirked one of his pretty smirks, and Grantaire feared that his stupid mouth was going to ruin whatever fragile goodwill was going on between them.

“I wasn't trying to knock the polo. You look good in the polo. Hell, you'd probably look good in clown pants. Clown pants? What am I even saying right now? I really need to stop talking. I'm going to sit down and drink the coffee and let you get back to work. Come and find me after you punch out.”

The smirk turned into an honest to god _smile_. Those were so rare Grantaire wasn't even sure if he'd seen one before. “Sure thing. Grantaire, you're of course free to do whatever you'd like with the coffee, but I'd really like it if you kept the flask in your bag this time. It's...we get on a bit better when you don't overdo it, y'know?”

Completely baffled as to what could possibly be going on, Grantaire mutely nodded and trudged back to the table. He resumed his seat in front of Combeferre, who took one look at him and then scowled. “You completely ignored everything I said, didn't you?”

“Of course. It didn't go badly though. Enjolras and I are going to hang out when he gets off work tonight.”

“What?” Bahorel very rudely turned his back on the conversation he'd been having with Bossuet to gape at Grantaire. “Wait, did you seriously just ask Enjolras out? And it _worked_?”

“No. Maybe. I dunno. I think it's just friendly. Wait, do you think it might not be?”

“Well what was the context?” Prouvaire asked. “Were you romantic? Did you say it was a date?”

Grantaire looked around and realized all his friends were now staring at him. Courfeyrac had even put his phone away. It was a bit creepy.

“Of course I didn't say it was a date. Enjolras has been pretty clear about his complete lack of interest in me.”

Prouvaire and Combeferre traded a look with each other. Grantaire couldn't tell what that was about.

Courfeyrac smiled disarmingly and scooched his chair closer to Grantaire's end of the table. “R, Enjolras hasn't said anything about you one way or the other. You're the one who decided he wasn't interested in you without ever giving him the chance.”

“Well yeah, I'm the one who said it, but based on his signals. He doesn't like me. Seriously, I'm cool with that.”

“You are most definitely _not_ cool with that,” Bahorel said. “You talk about it too damn much.”

“Well, whatever. The point is, it's not a date. Um. He's not finished until nine though, so I think I'm going to head home and shower first.”

“For the not-date,” Courfeyrac said. Grantaire punched his shoulder on his way out.

 

* * *

It was closer to nine thirty than nine by the time Grantaire got back to the cafe. He'd had a mild panic attack in the shower over the impending not-date. It wasn't bad, all things considered. He'd definitely had worse. It didn't even last long enough for the chest pains to start. But the panicked breathing had definitely been unpleasant, and it left him shaking in a ball at the end of his tub for longer than he'd have liked. By the time he felt strong enough to stand up his hair was utterly ruined and he had to wet it again so he could brush it flat.

Enjolras had asked him not to drink, which was fair. He was obnoxious when he was drunk. But he was panicky when he was sober, and Enjolras probably wouldn't enjoy silent staring (or leering, as he perceived it) any more than rambling, incoherent speeches. So Grantaire chugged a bit of his cheap vodka before he headed out the door. He'd texted Courfeyrac, figuring his buddies were still at the Musain, and asked him to let Enjolras know he was almost there.

When Grantaire walked into the Musain his hair was still wet and he stank like the cigarettes he'd chain smoked for the walk over. But he was wearing clean clothes he thought of as almost flattering on his better days and he'd gotten a good panic out in privacy. He felt almost calm.

Enjolras was waiting for him in the back room, sitting in the chair he'd vacated earlier and sharing a book with Prouvaire. Combeferre gave him a gentle tap when Grantaire stumbled into the room, and Enjolras swiveled around in the seat to nod at him. “There you are. Why on earth did you leave? I only had a couple of hours left and it's been pretty slow for Christmas shopping season. You could have helped me pass the shift.”

“I, uh, had to do some stuff first.” Hyperventilate into a paper bag, smoke half a pack, dull his demons under a goodly amount of vodka…

Enjolras' brow furrowed. “Were you drinking?”

Bossuet smacked a hand over his face. “Oh come on, R...”

“If you're asking that then I think you already know the answer. It's fine. I'm usually at least half-drunk when you see me.”

“Yes, and it's not a condition I'm particularly fond of.” Enjolras let out a weary sigh. “But if it's the only way I can see you then I guess it'll have to do.” He got out of the chair and started shrugging into his hoodie. “Are any of you coming along?”

“I was planning on staying here until close. I want to have this finished tonight so I can start in on my Christmas reading,” Prouvaire said. The others all offered similar excuses, so Enjolras waved goodbye and started to the door with Grantaire. “I didn't realize it was going to be just us. One of my friends wanted to meet up and I figured I'd just combine plans. You don't mind, do you?”

“Course not. It's not like I have a real plan anyway. I was just figuring we'd go somewhere other than your work and hang.”

“All right then. Feuilly's place is over this way.” Enjolras took Grantaire's arm, which he wanted to be angry about because he wasn't so drunk as to be unsteady on his feet, but he had almost walked into a streetlamp so he decided it was fair. It wasn't because he was drunk though. His attention was just so focused on Enjolras that he started missing other details.

He'd never seen Enjolras in anything but the Musain's dim ambient lighting. His hair was mesmerizing under the shifting light of moving headlights, streetlights and store windows. Grantaire had never seen so many different gold tones before. He wondered how it would look in the afternoon sun, or moonlight…

“Are you all right?” Enjolras asked, looking mostly amused but a touch concerned.

“Yeah. Sorry, but it's your fault. Your hair is fucking hypnotic.”

Enjolras regarded him quizzically. “Are you really just drunk? Because now you sound like you're high.”

“I'm not high. And I'm not even that drunk.”

“You've almost walked into two poles now.”

“Again, it's your fault because you're blindingly beautiful. Your hair is a deathtrap. You're like a siren. You're designed to lure unsuspecting gay boys to their deaths.”

“Uh huh. Or you could just pay attention to where you're going instead of leering at me.”

“I'm not leering! I'm admiring your beauty. It's completely different, and really perfectly understandable. When one is freakishly beautiful people notice and they react accordingly.”

Enjolras frowned, all amusement gone. “And this was why I asked you not to drink anymore. It's okay, we'll be there soon. And I'll get you and Feuilly talking about art and you'll be too distracted to say weird things to me and the conversation will be comfortable and I won't regret agreeing to spend time with you tonight.”

He was clearly talking to himself. Grantaire wondered how drunk Enjolras thought he was. He was acting like Grantaire wasn't going to remember what they were doing, but Grantaire held his drink much better than Enjolras was giving him credit for. He was a pretty high functioning alcoholic. Hell, he'd made Dean's List every semester despite the unmarked water bottles he brought to class and the fact that he wrote most of his papers while he was three sheets to the wind the night before they were due.

Grantaire really wanted to know why Enjolras froze up whenever he called him beautiful. At first he'd thought Enjolras was just uptight about his looks. But he'd heard Enjolras acknowledge the fact that, other than the recent weight loss and the obvious sleep deprivation, he was remarkably good looking. He'd told a few anecdotes about being oblivious while people hit on him to the guys, and Courfeyrac had questioned him once about haircare (apparently the golden waves were all natural – all Enjolras did was shower regularly and let it air dry). He could distantly acknowledge the fact that he was good looking to any other human being but Grantaire. If he even hinted at it, Enjolras got snippy.

The obvious conclusion was that Enjolras didn't want Grantaire flirting with him. Because he didn't like him. Because Grantaire was an obnoxious, drunken mess that had nothing in common with him. Grantaire didn't like chatting about politics or social justice warrior bullshit. He didn't like pointless boycotts and petitions. Every company had human rights violations and environmental impact issues if you looked at them closely enough. If the guys kept over analyzing that shit, pretty soon they wouldn't be able to buy _anything, ever._

“Grantaire? We're there. Feuilly's building is right here.”

“Huh? Oh, right.”

“I didn't really make concrete plans with Feuilly either. I'm a little light on funds this week, so maybe instead of going out somewhere we could just watch a movie with him or something. He's got a lot of DVDs and VHS tapes. I'm sure you'll like at least one of them.”

“VHS? People still use those?”

Enjolras ignored him in favor of ringing Feuilly's bell. They were buzzed into a front entryway that smelled like an ashtray and had water stains on nearly every surface. Grantaire hadn't been paying much attention to where they were going, but it seemed they'd left the nicer neighborhood by the college.

They had to walk up a few flights of stairs to get to Feuilly's apartment, where Enjolras knocked on the door. “It's open!” came the muffled response.

Two guys who looked to be about Enjolras' age (and actually looked it, unlike Enjolras) were sitting on a cheap futon with their eyes glued to an old TV that looked like it had been picked up from the side of the road. The one with paint stains on his clothes had curly brown hair mostly obscured by a faded Red Sox cap and a smattering of freckles over his nose. If he weren't so stubbornly fixated on Enjolras, Grantaire probably would have been attracted enough to the guy to at least try to flirt with him. He was pretty scrawny, but unlike Enjolras there was a wiry musculature going on there. He was probably _supposed_ to be that skinny.

The other one had a soft, pleasant looking face and an aristocratic nose Grantaire very much would have liked to sketch. He was wearing meticulously clean scrubs that might even have been ironed. He had light brown hair and a friendly smile.

“Guys, this is my friend, Grantaire. R, that's Feuilly and the guy in the scrubs is Joly.”

Feuilly crawled across the floor to pause the VHS tape they were watching. Grantaire wondered if he'd stepped into some kind of time vortex at some point. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually seen a VCR in real life.

It didn't look like anything in the decrepit apartment had been manufactured after he'd graduated high school. He couldn't tell if the apartment was actually small or if it just looked that way because it was cluttered with boxes and boxes of what appeared to be thrift store fare. There were VHSes, DVDs and CDs stacked all over the place, along with the usual stacks of books that Grantaire figured he should expect in the home of any friend of Enjolras'.

“Hey, welcome. Have you guys eaten yet? We were just talking food. Joly wants to run down to the store and get the fixings for pasta. He thinks he got food poisoning the last time we got pizza.”

“Even though he was the only one who got sick,” Enjolras said with a smirk.

Joly pouted at them. “I don't care what you both say. I was up all night on the toilet, and whether it was my imagination or not is irrelevant. I'm still never eating there again.”

“Are you in your work clothes because you're heading out or are you done for the day?” Enjolras asked.

“Done for the day. Are you in your work clothes because you're done for the day or because you don't have anything else to wear?” Joly returned.

Enjolras glared at him and Feuilly whapped him over the back of the head. “Dude, not in front of his friend.”

“Right, sorry. Sorry.” Joly held up his arms defensively. “But yeah, I'm not running away to work and I'm still vetoing the five dollar pizzas. I don't care how affordable the special is. I think it's cheap because it's contaminated.”

“Honestly, I ate at work.” Enjolras sat down in front of the futon and patted a bit of ugly carpet next to him. Grantaire took the invitation and gracelessly sprawled beside him. “Are you hungry, 'Taire?”

Grantaire blinked stupidly for a moment. Enjolras had never used a nickname on him before. He didn't even call him R that much, even though pretty much everyone else did. He liked the way his name sounded shortened like that.

It finally occurred to him that he should answer the question. “N-no, I'm...I'm good.”

Feuilly let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess pasta wins then, if it's just the two of us eating. But I'm not going to the store.”

Joly turned up the intensity of his pout. “I don't want to go by myself.”

“Lookit that. I guess we're having pizza delivered.”

“But Feuilly...I don't want the gross pizza.”

Enjolras turned to Grantaire. “They're probably going to go on like this for a little while. Joly usually wins out by sheer force of cuteness, and besides that, he's more stubborn than Feuilly.”

“Kay. So what are we going to do?”

Enjolras shrugged. “It's honestly pretty much the same sort of thing you guys do at the Musain. We usually discuss politics and the books we're reading. Joly's a student so sometimes he tells us about his classes, and occasionally we sit in on the ones that aren't related to his nursing major. Sometimes we go to lectures on his campus.”

“Christ, but that does sound an awful lot like us. You should have your buddies come hang out at the Musain. I bet they'd get along with Courf and 'Ferre and everyone.”

Enjolras nodded. “I've been thinking about it.” Out of nowhere, Enjolras smacked Feuilly's calf with the back of his hand, which cut short what had been some pretty enthusiastic whining from Joly. “Hey. You guys should come hang out at my work sometime. Grantaire's friends are always there and I think our cliques would combine well.”

“I've only been in a couple of times but I thought it looked like a good place to study,” Joly said, affirming Grantaire in his belief that he'd at least get along with Combeferre and Prouvaire. “What are your friends like, Grantaire?”

“A bunch of loud mouthed queer activists. Well, they're not all gay, but the guys who aren't are really vocal allies.”

“I see...are any of the gay ones cute?” Joly asked. Feuilly badly tried to conceal a snort with a cough.

“Oh, I'm easily the ugliest of us. We're generally a very good looking group, yeah. Courf has commitment issues so if you're looking for anything long term avoid him, and Combeferre's a workaholic. If your idea of a good date doesn't involve lots of book discussion and trips to the athenaeum, museums, and libraries then don't go for him. I'm half convinced he's going to marry a leather bound tome someday. Bossuet's not nearly as good looking as the others but he's much more dateable. Prouvaire's queer too, but he's terribly shy. I think you'd just scare him if you tried to flirt.”

“Speaking from the voice of experience, are we?” Enjolras teased.

Grantaire scrunched his nose up and shook his head. “Nah, he's not my type. Bahorel is though. I don't remember exactly what it is I said when I expressed that interest to him,” here Enjolras coughed something that sounded an awful lot like 'surprise-surprise,' and Grantaire paused to flip him off. “But however I phrased it he wasn't flattered. He nearly broke my nose, leading me to I think the completely justified conclusion that he was homophobic. I was really surprised when Courfeyrac introduced him to me later as a friend. We settled it pretty quickly that Bahorel wasn't homophobic at all, despite being straight and having punched me in the face. Everyone decided I was just obnoxious.” Grantaire rubbed at his nose, wincing at what he could remember of the incident. “Anyway, we're great friends now. Bahorel's a good guy. He's just got a bit of a temper.”

“Well, considering the way you talked to me the first time we met I can't exactly say I'm surprised Bahorel punched you in the face.”

“Wait, I _remember_ everything I said to you. I wasn't that bad,” Grantaire insisted, even though he'd been kicking himself over his comments for the past few weeks. He still didn't really think he'd been out of line, but he could tell Enjolras didn't agree with him and he wanted the chance to defend himself.

“It was a pretty inappropriate way to talk about a stranger. And I may not have punched you in the face but I can understand why Bahorel jumped to that conclusion.”

“Enjolras, you _do_ have a really nice ass. The sooner you accept that about yourself the easier your life will be.” Grantaire gave Enjolras' knee a gentle pat, regarding him with false gravity. Joly clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

“He's not wrong, Enjolras,” Feuilly said. “And not just about the ass thing. You get hit on all the time, and it's not all disgusting cat-call shit either. I think you'd be better off if you took the defensiveness down a peg.”

“I don't like being reduced to superficial qualities beyond my control. Besides that, you know exactly how inappropriate people get with me sometimes.” Enjolras whapped Feuilly's shin again, this time much harder. “Excuse me for not taking those comments in good faith. They're very rarely innocent.”

“Look, I realized I hit a nerve like right away. I've tried to back peddle.”

“Grantaire, the fact that you're sitting here speaks to your success in doing that,” Joly said. “Enjolras isn't big on second chances.”

“Well, Combeferre was right. He's proven to be completely harmless.” Enjolras turned to face Grantaire again. “You really do just put your foot in your mouth kind of a lot.”

“Combeferre talked to you about me?”

Enjolras looked confused. “Yes...I'd thought he was doing so on your behalf. I guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Anyway, back to planning dinner. I'm still in favor of pizza. Enjolras, Grantaire, are you sure you guys aren't going to eat?” Feuilly asked. He gave Enjolras a nudge. “What did you even have at work? Don't they just have pastries at that place?”

“I had a very large muffin.”

“That is _not_ a meal.”

“I'm fine. I had a large lunch before work.”

Feuilly was about to argue some more, but then Enjolras' stomach saved him the necessity by giving a very audible rumble. “Oh for fuck's sake. I can spot you the pizza.”

Enjolras lowered his gaze. “Can we not do this now? I said I wasn't hungry. Please let it go.”

“I've got an idea. Sorry, but the pizza doesn't really sound that appetizing anyway. Why don't I cover us for takeout we actually want?” Grantaire took out his wallet and extracted his debit card. “Or rather, my wealthy parents can buy us dinner.”

“Don't worry about it, Grantaire. Five dollar pizzas will be fine. Other than Joly's delicate digestive system, it's what we're used to.”

Joly gave an abused sniff and Enjolras still hadn't raised his eyes from the carpet. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides.

“I insist. C'mon, I cover people all the time at the Musain. Enjolras, you've seen me do it. I'll get you guys whatever you want. Hell, we could even get oysters if you wanted. I know a good seafood place not far from here. Granted, they don't deliver, but-”

“I'll eat the damn food, just shut up about it,” Enjolras snapped. He climbed to his feet and stalked off for a little room just off the kitchen, slamming and locking the door behind him.

“Bathroom,” Joly said by way of explanation. “Oh dear. Well, if you're serious about treating I really would prefer not to get the cheap pizza. But perhaps we should be slightly less extravagant than oysters. Enjolras...he can be a little proud. He doesn't like owing people things.”

“It's not a big deal. It's not even really my money.”

Feuilly had gone to the kitchen and come back with a pile of menus. “It's fine. Let's just order the food. He'll do some breathing exercises or whatever while he's in there, and when he comes back out he'll be fine again. These moods don't usually last very long.”

Grantaire started to look through the menus but he couldn't shake a nagging feeling. He kept his voice low, hoping Enjolras wouldn't hear. “He's not, like...sick or something, is he? It's just, he's really touchy about food and his weight and stuff. Is he anorexic or something?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Joly said, clearly thinking he was being reassuring.

“But there is something going on?” Grantaire pressed.

Feuilly sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It's...complicated and private. Enjolras hasn't told you because he doesn't want people to know, so it's not our place to divulge the info. But it's also not anything you need to worry about. He's not sick and he's not anorexic.”

“But he's lost a significant amount of weight in a short space of time and he's lying about meals.”

“Yep. But it's none of your business, Grantaire.” Feuilly sounded almost as threatening as Bahorel when he was looking for a fight. In the interest of not completely ruining the night, Grantaire decided to let it go and suggested they order Chinese food.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thanks for getting me off to a strong start on this story. The response to the first chapter was great.
> 
> So any of you who've read my previous fics or maybe taken a look at my works list now that you've found this one might have noticed I've got a lot of Les Mis fics, and I've got a lot of unfinished ones. I do periodically add new chapters to the stuff I've left hanging, so none of it is really dead even if it's not terribly active. I expect this one is going to be more like my super-long-regularly-updated fic of a few years ago, College Boys and High School Girls. I've got a good idea of where this is going and over 100 pages already written, so it's just a matter of cleaning it up and writing the bridging scenes I haven't finished yet. Again, it SHOULD get updated regularly even if no one interacts with it at all, as I am highly interested in what I'm writing right now, but encouraging comments always help (and I might take a brief hiatus in October because I live and work in Salem Ma, which is the self-proclaimed Halloween capital of the world. I'll be a bit busy...)
> 
> Thanks for coming along on the ride :)

The combining of cliques began gradually, with Grantaire hanging out at Feuilly's apartment. He fit easily into that clique, his love of pop culture lending itself to hours of exploring Feuilly's collection of thrift-store goods. He often found himself on Feuilly's doorstep even without Enjolras.

Getting Feuilly and Joly to the Musain took a little more effort. Joly was just too busy to spend that much time being social. In addition to nursing school, he was also working as a per diem CNA between a few different nursing homes. The night he'd met Grantaire had been something of a fluke. Feuilly told him not to worry about it too much; he'd see plenty of Joly when he crashed at the end of the semester (his school let out two weeks after the other clique's). Feuilly himself refrained from Musain visits because he was honestly poor enough not to be able to splurge on coffees and pastries and was too proud to let his friends spot him. Through persistent whining, Grantaire was able to coax him to come to the Musain about once a week.

Finals finally finished up for the arts and humanities kids and the students collectively exhaled, and finally started enjoying the holiday season. Grantaire was confident his grades would buy him some forgiveness from his father over his “dissipated student lifestyle,” as he termed Grantaire's social life. He was in pretty good spirits when he met up with his friends in the back room of the Musain, and inordinately pleased when he saw Joly and Feuilly already sitting at the pushed together tables.

Feuilly was in deep discussion with Combeferre and Prouvaire, a small stack of books spread between them with their coffees and festive sugar cookies. Joly, meanwhile, was sitting with Bossuet, a smile that looked almost bashful on his face while Bossuet rattled off progressively less amusing anecdotes as he worked through his repertoire. Either his oratorical prowess was saving him, or he could have been reciting the phone book to the same effect. Whatever the reason, Joly was enraptured with him.

Grantaire dropped his stuff at the table and then went over to the counter. Louison greeted him. She was wearing a felt reindeer antler headband with jingle bells on the antlers. “What'll it be, R? Dark roast that we'll pretend we don't see you augmenting with your flask, or something with espresso?”

“Just a hot chocolate for now. I gotta call my folks in a bit and I can't risk augmented coffee for that. Can't have father think I'm throwing away my education with merriment and drunken dissipation. He'll already be suspicious enough when he hears my friends laughing in the background. I think the sound of friendship pierces his blackened heart like some sort of Carebear villain or something. Dr. No-Fucks-Heart.”

Louison shook her head. “And yet he still pays your bills for you.”

“I'm milking that cow as long as it lasts. I'll be fucked the minute he stops.” He handed off his debit card and leaned against the counter while he waited for his cocoa. To his great amusement, it looked like all the employees were wearing the jingle antlers, so that meant…

Yep. Enjolras stepped out of the backroom with a roll of paper towels under one arm, a bottle of Windex in his hand, and ridiculous looking felt antlers sticking out of his distractingly perfect hair. Grantaire smiled and waved.

Enjolras' face went red preemptively, even without Grantaire saying anything. He glowered at Grantaire and pointedly started wiping down the front of the bake case, as though Grantaire weren't standing right next to him. “The antlers are part of our seasonal uniform. The polite thing to do would be to not call attention to it.”

“Believe me, I know how much trouble I get in for calling you cute. I won't say anything.”

Enjolras looked up from his cleaning for a half-hearted glare. It wasn't up to his usual par, given how tired he looked. It seemed like he was always at the Musain working his perky little ass off. Grantaire wondered sometimes when it was Enjolras sat down and read all those books the nerds loaned him. He wished Enjolras would take some time off, but then, at the same time he'd hate to risk seeing less of his crush.

“Did I miss your break already or are you going to be joining us in the back room at some point?”

“I already had it, and I'm working the closing shift tonight. If it slows down, I'll try to come over and say hi. I'm with Louison and Azelma tonight. They don't tend to mind.”

Grantaire nodded. By that point his cocoa was done, giving him no further excuse to linger. He took another long, sad look at his crush, who looked more exhausted and gaunt than ever, and made his way back to their infinitely more lively and cheerful friends.

Well, generally the table was cheerful. Courfeyrac seemed to be pouting about something or other. Grantaire was quickly informed that his plans to host a massive Christmas bash had been ruined. He was being called back home for the holidays, since his sister had decided to unexpectedly visit from Paris. “We never get the whole family together anymore, so I have to go.”

“Aren't you happy you're going to see your sister for the holidays?” Feuilly asked.

“My sister is seven years older than me and has always had at least six inches and forty pounds on me. She _tortured_ me when I was a kid. I wish her and her stupid brats and bigoted, homophobic asshole of a husband would stay in Paris for the rest of my life. Well, unless I ever have the good fortune to visit the city. Then they can leave.”

“All this drama just because Anne used to sit on your head and fart,” Grantaire said. He patted Courfeyrac's back while his friend banged his head against the table.

“If the Christmas party is off, I'll probably head to my parents' place tomorrow instead of hanging around,” Bahorel said. “I'm almost out of clean clothes.”

The others began making similar noises. Grantaire frowned. “Hey, we don't have to scrap all our plans just because Courfeyrac's being dragged away. Surely someone else could host the party?”

Prouvaire's nose scrunched up in distaste at the idea. “Come now, R. Can you imagine having a party without Courfeyrac? It wouldn't be the same. Who would provide the tacky Santa hats, the inventive drinking games, and all the really horrible ideas that make for the best Snapchats? It would be half-hearted at best without our center. We're much better off waiting for New Year's when we can be our proper group.”

Courfeyrac brightened at that. “Yeah, most of the shit I came up with transfers easily enough to other holidays, and I should be able to weasel out of family festivities for New Years...”

Feuilly was visibly disappointed. Grantaire arched a brow at him and he voiced his displeasure. “I don't have any family to spend Christmas with. This was actually going to be the first year I had any plans in ages. Usually I just sit at home with Chinese food and wish my parents weren't dead.”

The entire table went silent. No one knew what to say to that. Feuilly grimaced, obviously wishing he'd kept silent. He glared down into his coffee cup and started to mumble an apology for killing the mood.

“Come home with me,” Grantaire said, completely on impulse.

“Sorry?”

“My family does a big, traditional Christmas thing. We get a tree that's at least ten feet and decorate it Christmas Eve, and the house fills up with family that's sensibly scattered all across the country the rest of the year. It gets loud and awkward, but there's lots of good food and I've got a lock on my door and my own bathroom, so hiding's always an option. Bossuet came last year, and we had fun, didn't we?”

Bossuet quickly nodded his agreement. “Grantaire's father is an unapologetic asshole, but his mom and his sister are really sweet, and he has some cool cousins and an unintentionally hilarious senile grandmother. Plus they're absolutely loaded. They have the kind of Christmas dinner you only usually see in movies. You should definitely go.”

“I wasn't trying to guilt trip anyone into-”

“Dude, I know. If you were, I wouldn't have asked.” Grantaire shrugged his shoulders. “I like bringing friends home with me. Sometimes Dad feels obligated to make a good impression in front of strangers so he tries a bit harder to hide our dysfunctions. He might not call me a dissipated fuck up as often if you're around. And he's much less likely to call me a faggot.”

That had about the same effect on the table as Feuilly's pronouncement. Most of the guys hailed from supportive families. Joly's parents had some homophobic tendencies they were trying to rid themselves of in light of their gay son, and Combeferre's mother checked in with him periodically to see if he was “still saying he was gay, because she had a friend with the loveliest daughter who liked to read almost as much as he did, but if he was still insisting he only liked boys then she was going to drop it, but it didn't hurt to check...” None of them were actively antagonized by close family the way Grantaire was.

“Friends do have a way of providing some protection from family unwilling to air their dirty laundry,” Combeferre said, shooting a sympathetic look Grantaire's way.

“Well, if it'll help you out then I can definitely tag along. But I don't want to be a burden or anything,” Feuilly said.

“Trust me, the more the merrier.”

“In that case, can we invite Enjolras? It's his first Christmas alone this year, and I dunno...I'm a bit worried about him. But you know how he is. He won't talk, so it's impossible to check up on him.”

Well wasn't that an understatement. Grantaire gave Feuilly his blessing to invite Enjolras along, figuring there was no chance in hell of him accepting the invitation. He was greatly surprised then, later that night, when Feuilly texted him to let him know that Enjolras would be meeting them outside the Musain Wednesday morning for the drive to Grantaire's childhood home, and that he'd promised to provide peppermint cocoas and sugar cookies for the drive.

Grantaire stared at his phone in shock. Under normal circumstances he'd never say no to spending more time with Enjolras, such was his state of pining. He never came off better in Enjolras' eyes during their social interactions, but he still felt more alive in the presence of his crush. Enjolras made him hopeful in a way the cynic alcoholic hadn't felt since his teen years. His addictive personality had latched on to that sensation, and he hadn't been looking forward to a week without his Enjolras-fix.

On the other hand, the last thing his damaged psyche needed was having his crush witness the full brunt of his father's caustic humiliations. Having a friend present was different. His friends sympathized with him and helped him through that shit. Friendship was give and take like that, and he always appreciated the support. And whereas he and Enjolras were nominally friends, their dynamic was different. He wasn't ready for Enjolras to know quite this much about him.

But Enjolras clearly needed someplace to be, especially if he was offering to bring Christmas-themed treats. He wasn't a terribly festive person, to put it lightly. Grantaire frowned at his phone, and then texted back 'more the merrier' with a smiley emoji, then threw his phone across the room, flopped onto his mattress, and curled into a ball. He'd just have to hope for the best.

Grantaire was terrible at hoping for the best.

 

* * *

“That you for letting me tag along, R. I really appreciate it.”

“You say that now, but just wait until you get there and meet the extended fam. I'm considered one of the more personable members of the family, if that tells you anything.” Grantaire smiled self-deprecatingly, then reached to take his to-go cup of cocoa from Enjolras. “Thanks for the road trip fuel.”

“How long are we going to be on the road for?” Feuilly asked. He was sitting shotgun, ostensibly to be the navigator but really just to poke Grantaire whenever they got close to an exit they needed. It was his childhood home, after all. He knew how to get there. He just occasionally fell into a sort of trance after enough miles of serene, tree-lined highway.

“Depending on traffic, three, three and a half hours. I made a Christmas playlist for us though. It'll help pass the time.” Grantaire gave his mp3 player a little shake.

Enjolras' smile looked pained. “Oh, Christmas music...”

“Don't worry, Enjolras. It's not anything like the crap they've been playing at your work. I've curated this list very carefully.” They were currently listening to Victoria Spivey's 'I Ain't Gonna Let You See My Santy Clause,' an absolute gem Grantaire had unearthed during an idle afternoon chugging rum spiked eggnog and playing with Spotify.

Enjolras remained quiet for most of the drive, which was fine. Grantaire got tenser and tenser the closer they creeped towards his home, which almost made him regret inviting Feuilly along in the first place (almost – he was definitely capable of dealing with his own discomfort for the sake of his friends, and Feuilly had looked miserable at the prospect of another lonely holiday). Occasionally, he was able to forget about what awaited him by dissecting pop culture with Feuilly, something Enjolras wasn't terribly great at unless they were talking about industry sexism or white-washing or some other SJW facet.

It was weird, really. Grantaire didn't have any illusions about himself. He knew it wasn't possible to present himself the way he'd like to to his crush. He knew he was ugly, pessimistic, intellectually gifted but lazy, with a worrying drinking habit and that he'd be completely unable to hide any of that from Enjolras. He didn't mind having his character flaws picked apart to his friends. Hell, he usually started those conversations. But somehow it was so different with Enjolras.

Once he took the exit to his hometown he found himself unable to banter with Feuilly anymore. His throat was too tight for conversation. Eventually Feuilly stopped trying to engage him, and sat back and listened to the Christmas music instead.

“Grantaire, is everything all right?”

Grantaire let out a strangled yelp. While being hyper-aware of Enjolras, he'd somehow forgotten the guy was sitting directly behind him in the backseat. He'd been quiet for most of the trip.

Enjolras had leaned forward to make his inquiry, but he jerked back, startled by Grantaire's outburst. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You just seem...tense. You won't get in trouble for inviting us, will you?”

“Huh? Oh, no, my parents never care when I bring friends home. They prefer it, actually. Then they don't have to pretend like they wanted to spend time with me.” He tried to sound upbeat, but Enjolras clearly wasn't buying it. “Seriously, it's nothing. You guys won't regret coming. My house is huge and nice and there'll be lots of food and Christmas cheer. My dad might make things a little awkward by calling me an asshole and a loser, but it's nothing you've never heard before. It's not news or anything.”

“Grantaire? You're the only person who ever calls yourself a loser or an asshole,” Feuilly said. “We're your friends. We all like you.”

“If your father does start to verbally abuse you in front of us, how should we handle it? I'm going to be tempted to stand up for you,” Enjolras said. “But I don't want to make it worse. Should I try to hold my tongue?”

“I, uh...yeah, just ignore him. It's no big. I've been dealing with him literally for as long as I can remember, after all. But he usually tries to save face in front of company. We're supposed to look like a happier family than we are.”

“I see. So it is a good thing we came with you,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire decided to pretend he hadn't heard and focused on driving. They were in town now, which required a bit more concentration than the highway. Albeit not by that much. Grantaire's hometown was a sleepy suburb with wide streets and houses spaced far apart by their sprawling yards.

His home was barely visible from the road, obscured by old trees and a gently sloping hill. Feuilly's eyebrows rose when he saw the place. “Ten foot Christmas tree, huh? What's the largest you guys have had? I mean, with ceilings like those...”

“Thirteen,” Grantaire answered. “Isn't it disgusting? Seriously, it looks like the setting of a Hallmark Christmas movie or something.”

Enjolras shrugged. “I've seen worse.”

“True. We're not quite the one percent. You don't have to completely hate me,” Grantaire teased. He kept up the cheerful facade while they got their bags out of the trunk and walked up to the house. It took Grantaire a second to find his key, since he instantly went for the one to his apartment. Once inside they started divesting themselves of snow covered boots and scarves.

“Anyone home?” No one answered Grantaire's shout, so he ventured into the living room. Sure enough, the TV was on and his parents were both present, though neither of them were paying attention to it. His mother was on the phone and his father had his eyes glued to a computer screen. “Hey. I'm home.”

“Hold on a sec, Rose. Your brother just walked in.” His mother waved at him and then started chatting with his sister again. From the sounds of it, they were arguing about Christmas dinner and how best to accommodate his grandmother's food restrictions.

“Your room's all set. Your mother insisted on changing the sheets, even though you wouldn't have noticed.” His father briefly looked up from the computer to scowl at him. “I swear, you get fatter every time I see you. Should we be changing your meal plan, or is it all that time you waste drinking with your supposed friends?”

“Hang on, Rose. Daniel, that's not fair. Grantaire's very popular. Of course he's going out with his friends. He just needs to exercise a little more. Honey, would you like us to get you a gym membership?”

“Uh...um, speaking of friends. I kinda brought a couple with me.”

“Oh. Rose, I'll call you back.” Sylvie abruptly hung up the phone, her lips pressed together in an involuntary gesture, the only visible sign that she was at all embarrassed about what Grantaire's friends might have overheard.

He gestured towards Enjolras and Feuilly, who were still milling around the front hall, and they joined him in the living room doorway. “Mom, Dad, this is Enjolras and Feuilly. They were both alone for the holidays so I asked them to come along and keep me company for the drive. Guys, these are my parents, Daniel and Sylvie.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Feuilly said. Enjolras curtly nodded at both of them. The kid had no poker face whatsoever, and it was fairly obvious from the way his eyes were flashing that he was seething with anger. All things considered, a nod was probably the best reaction Grantaire could have expected.

“It's nice to meet you too.” Sylvie walked over to them, her gracious hostess smile in place. “Thank you so much for coming with Grantaire. I know how dull that drive can be from when we were doing college visits. Besides, no one should be alone for the holidays. I'm afraid our guest rooms are spoken for, but we've got some air mattresses we can fill up. I'll have my husband set them up for you after dinner.”

“Sorry about the short notice,” Feuilly said. “Grantaire said it wouldn't be a problem.”

“And it isn't. We're delighted to have you.”

“C'mon, guys. Let's bring our bags upstairs.” Grantaire went out in the hallway, head down, and almost forgot to actually collect his bag from the front hall in his haste to get upstairs.

“You're not fat.” They weren't even quite to Grantaire's room before Enjolras spoke. “And even if you were, it's not a bad thing. Society's obsession with narrow beauty standards is a noxious form of social control and a poisonous effect of capitalism, cashing in on manufactured insecurity-”

“What do you care, you friggin' runway model?” Grantaire gave himself a little shake. “Sorry. I, uh, I did actually put on a few pounds and my folks are definitely the type to zero in on it. But I'm honestly not worried about it. It's winter weight. I'll work it off when I can go running again.” He kicked open his bedroom door and dropped his bag at the end of the bed. “Now, the polite thing to do would be to ignore the decorating scheme I picked out my senior year of high school and not comment on all the shitty band posters.”

“Aw, you were an emo kid.”

“Again, Feuilly, the _polite_ thing to do-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They spent a few hours in Grantaire's room, Grantaire and Feuilly watching cartoons while Enjolras inspected Grantaire's bookcases. He eventually found something he liked and curled up in an armchair by the window. It was incredibly cozy and even kind of peaceful. Unfortunately, his mother insisted on having them come downstairs for dinner.

She hadn't cared about interacting with Bossuet when Grantaire had brought him back, but she'd been curious about Courfeyrac for the first couple of days when he'd tagged along freshman year. Once she'd figured out that he and Grantaire weren't secretly dating she'd been just as happy to ignore him as any of Grantaire's other friends, and they'd gone back to hiding out in Grantaire's spacious bedroom, but until then she'd been rather nosy about him. Grantaire wondered who she thought he was dating this time. Most likely Feuilly, since he was approachable and not nearly as stunning as Enjolras (though still well out of Grantaire's league).

This time Daniel was on the phone when they got into the kitchen. From the sounds of it, he was taking a business call. Sylvie's voice turned shrill in her attempt to talk over him. “Hello, boys. We're having lasagna tonight. Help yourselves, there's plenty.”

“Where's Rose?” Grantaire asked.

“Out Christmas shopping. I don't think she's coming over until tomorrow. We'll wait to do the tree until your grandparents get here. That'll be fun, won't it?”

“I guess.” Grantaire cut himself a wedge of lasagna and then reached for the green beans.

Sylvie frowned at him. “That's not all you're eating, is it?”

“Um...” He glanced down at his plate. He was tempted to point out that his parents had grilled him that very afternoon over gaining weight and that pacing himself over the holidays was probably a good plan even if he actually had been worried about the added pudge. Deciding it was better not to push it, he just cut himself a little more lasagna and then passed the tray to Feuilly.

“Fill your plates, boys. Lasagna's a pain in the ass to make, but it's my husband's favorite so I suffer through it anyway even though stuffed shells are basically the same thing with much less assembly. So, do you go to school together?”

“Not yet,” Feuilly said. “I want to transfer to Grantaire's school eventually but right now I'm taking night classes at the community college.”

Sylvie's smile looked almost pained. “I see. Well that's...that's a very sensible thing to do. Money-wise, I should think. What about you, dear?”

“I had to drop out for financial hardship,” Enjolras answered. Grantaire just managed to hide his surprise. He hadn't known if Enjolras was a student or not. It had never occurred to him to ask, although come to think of it, he probably should have wondered about it. Enjolras was such a brain. He clearly loved studying.

Maybe that's why he was working so many hours at the Musain. He must be trying to pay down his loans or something so he could go back to school.

“What are you studying?” Daniel asked, startling Grantaire as he'd tuned out his father so thoroughly he hadn't noticed him finishing his call.

“Public history,” Enjolras answered.

“I see. So you're planning on financial hardship being a pattern in your life then?”

“Daniel, really that's not polite...”

“What, who am I to criticize? My son is an art major.” Daniel's face twisted in a sneer. “They can bunk together at the homeless shelter, because if you think for a second that I'm going to continue supporting this leech when he makes no effort to better himself, think again. Once you finish your BA, you're done, and then we'll see how long it takes before you come crawling back, begging for forgiveness. You'll realize you should have majored in accounting all along, just like I said.”

“Not fucking likely,” Grantaire muttered under his breath. He cut into his lasagna with just a bit more force than was necessary.

He must have looked as gloomy as he felt, even though he generally tried to keep up the look of joviality so his father wouldn't know how many of his barbs landed. Much to his surprise, Enjolras reached over and gave his wrist a squeeze.

The dinner was almost bearable for it. Sylvie asked Enjolras and Feuilly prying questions while Daniel continued to thoroughly insult and berate his son, but Enjolras continued giving Grantaire small, covert touches while skillfully deflecting his parents' verbal assaults. The skin on Grantaire's wrist felt electrified. He'd never given that small bit of skin much thought before, but every time Enjolras squeezed his wrist every nerve sang for him.

After dinner finished they once more retreated upstairs. Feuilly offered Grantaire a half-hearted smile while Enjolras went to pace in front of the window. “So...are we going to treat mealtimes like your Panic at the Disco poster?”

“Huh?”

Feuilly's smile finally slipped entirely. “The polite thing to do is to not talk about it, right?”

“Oh.” Grantaire nodded. “I'd appreciate it, yeah. Look...you guys don't need to pity me or anything. I mean, I mean I did grow up with more than I needed.” He waved his arm to encompass his room and all the junk it contained. “My parents are easy enough to avoid, and now that I'm away at school things are fine. I barely see them, Dad keeps money in my account, and even though he hates it I get to study what I want at school. Things are honestly pretty sweet for me right now.” Graduation was going to be a crushing weight of anxiety, but if Grantaire played his cards right and kept fiddling with his minor he might be able to tack an extra year on to his undergrad…

“I can see why you don't feel bad about spending so much of their money,” Feuilly observed. “You certainly earn it.”

“They shouldn't speak to you like that,” Enjolras said. “I know how families can be, but it's so unfair. Please don't believe them, R. You're not lazy and you're not useless. Art certainly isn't a practical major, but you're good at it and you enjoy it. If you're motivated enough, you can definitely build a career around it.”

“Ah, motivation. You've hit the problem right on the head. Look...I've had enough for tonight. Can't we just throw on the Peanuts Christmas special and curse capitalism together? That's something all three of us agree on, right?”

“Sure.” Feuilly flopped onto Grantaire's bed and faced the television. Grantaire took a few minutes searching his room for the blu-ray, and by the time he put the movie on Enjolras had deigned to sit on the end of the bed with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

All in all, it wasn't a _terrible_ start to the visit. But it certainly had the potential to get much worse.

* * *

At Grantaire's insistence, they decided to rotate who slept in the bed and who slept on the air mattresses. The first night Grantaire took the bed, but despite how comfortable he was he couldn't fall asleep. Normally when his insomnia acted up he'd read, sketch, or get drunk enough to black out, but the two friends sleeping on his floor made that tricky.

He supposed he could go downstairs, but if his parents heard him then they might investigate and the last thing he wanted was to be caught by his parents without anyone else around. He settled for staring at the ceiling and listening to Enjolras and Feuilly's regular breathing. He managed to drift off just as the sky started to tinge pink, and when he woke up Enjolras and Feuilly were both dressed, the blankets on their air mattresses folded. Enjolras was reading another book, and Feuilly had his eyes glued to his phone.

“Morning.” Grantaire's voice was low and raspy. He self-consciously patted at his hair, sure it was flying everywhere since he'd had such a restless night.

“You mean afternoon,” Enjolras said coldly. “It's almost one o'clock.”

“What, really?” Grantaire jumped to his feet, tripped on the blankets, and fell back against the mattress. “Shit, I'm sorry. You guys must be starving. You should have woken me up.”

“It's okay.” Feuilly pocketed his phone. He looked cheerful enough, but Enjolras was definitely annoyed. The boy had quite the resting bitch face, so it could be hard to tell sometimes. Grantaire was pretty confident he'd actually screwed up though. “We thought about going downstairs a few times but figured we'd be better off waiting for you. Besides, it's vacation. You've earned the right to sleep in.”

“I'm not usually this bad. I just had a hard time falling asleep last night. If it happens again, please wake me up. You guys shouldn't have to sit in my room in silence just because I have so many god damn issues.” Grantaire grabbed some clean clothes from his suitcase and started for his bathroom. “I'm just going to grab a quick shower. I'll be fast, I promise. Then we can brave my family together.”

He rushed through the shower, and when they headed downstairs together his hair was dripping onto his t-shirt and he had a small cut on his chin from distracted shaving. Thankfully, the kitchen was empty and they had a pleasant time watching Feuilly make omelets. Grantaire enjoyed cooking but he was only good at a few dishes and egg ones were not among them. He could never flip an omelet without breaking it.

“I can't cook anything,” Enjolras admitted. “They make fun of me for it at work. It's a wonder I can make the espresso drinks, honestly. I've burned every batch of cookies I've put in the oven.”

“Ah, that explains why Louison's always chasing you away from the back. She's trying to keep you from burning up the merchandise,” Feuilly said with a nod. “But Enjolras, isn't a lot of that stuff pre-baked? Aren't you just warming it up?”

Enjolras frowned. “I'd probably have died my freshman year of college if it weren't for frozen dinners and canned soup.”

“I primarily subsist off of stir-fry,” Grantaire said. “It's quick and easy. Highly recommended for college meals.”

“Mm, and it's a great way to use up odds and ends from the kitchen. If I ever had any leftover vegetables I'd definitely make more stir-fry,” Feuilly said with a nod.

“I didn't realize it was something you could make at home.”

Grantaire and Feuilly both snickered and badly tried to hide it. Grantaire quietly resolved to get Enjolras a cookbook.

Grantaire learned through a text that his family was out getting lunch with Rose and finishing up some holiday shopping. Accordingly, the day remained pleasant. After their late breakfast the friends ventured outside for a snowball fight and an exploration of Grantaire's old tree house. His parents were still out when they finished, so they took over the living room. Feuilly lit a fire in the massive fireplace, Grantaire prepared festive bowl sized mugs of cocoa, and the three of them stretched out on the carpet, doing their best imitations of spoiled house cats.

It was moments like these Grantaire remembered when he coerced people into coming home with him. He felt something like contentment, basking in the glow of a warm fire and the company of two handsome, intelligent young men who, for some bizarre reason, professed to like him enough to consider him a friend.

“I still can't believe they called you fat.”

It appeared Enjolras spoke without thinking. His face immediately colored and he turned away from Grantaire. Feuilly looked amused, Grantaire a little baffled. He'd been so zoned out he hadn't noticed if Enjolras and Feuilly had been having a conversation he'd dropped the thread of, or if that comment really did come out of nowhere.

Grantaire had shucked off his wet clothes as soon as they'd gotten inside and opted for a pair of loose fitting sweatpants that had a tendency to ride a little low on his hips, even with his winter belly. He'd paired it with a thin t-shirt that nicely accentuated his arm muscles. This was all done unconsciously, not in any kind of effort to impress anyone, but apparently Enjolras had been staring at him (dare he hope...checking him out? No, Grantaire wasn't delusional enough to even consider that).

“Enjolras, your body positivity speeches are going to sound a lot less credible if you keep fixating on this,” Grantaire said with a smirk. “In theory, you shouldn't mind if I weighed twice as much as I do now.”

“And I wouldn't,” Enjolras insisted. “But the fact of the matter is, you're not overweight at all, and the fact that anyone would accuse you of being overweight just shows how fixated they are on completely unattainable standards. Fatphobia has reached ridiculous levels when people who are muscular and trim are accused of being overweight.”

“I'm not trim.” Grantaire sat up and pinched his belly. “I do have a small gut to work off later.”

“You don't need to work anything off. You look fine.”

“Mm, but you're a body positivity activist. By your logic, I'd look fine with or without the belly, so I can't very well trust anything you've got to say on the subject,” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras scowled at him. “You're intentionally twisting my words.”

“I'm not twisting anything. You're the one railing against our fatphobic society, but at the same time shying away from telling me I'm fat. If you were really completely on board with this body positivity stuff you'd tell me to own it and not be ashamed of it.”

“But you're not fat! Your body is attractive by anyone's standards, conventional or otherwise. Unless we're referring to your parents, apparently.”

Grantaire's smile faltered. Enjolras turned redder than ever as he realized what he'd said. Grantaire forced out a laugh and shook his head. “Okay, so my body's not bad. At least I've still got the gargoyle face to scare away potential suitors.”

Enjolras' eyes narrowed. “Gargoyle face. Right.”

Feuilly bravely got them on to a new subject, and after another fifteen minutes Enjolras recovered enough from his embarrassment to participate in the conversation. Grantaire and Feuilly made it easy on him, sticking to social politics, which was definitely his comfort zone. The boy got a little awkward and even withdrawn if conversation wandered from his passions. Out of consideration for his feelings, Grantaire only snarked on him a little.

Truthfully, Grantaire was a bit too distracted by Enjolras calling him attractive to snark up to his usual par. He had no idea what to make of it. Eventually, he settled on Enjolras just trying to make him feel better. The guy had such a hard-on when it came to fighting injustice of any sort. Apparently that even included the bullying Grantaire took from his family.

Well, that made a lot more sense to him than the alternative. Enjolras being attracted to him was just ridiculous.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner that night wasn't quite the entire family, but it was much fuller than it had been the night before. In addition to Daniel and Sylvie they had Rose and Grantaire's paternal grandparents. His gram was a sweet old lady who was mostly deaf and liked to ramble on about the things she'd read in the paper. Grantaire had Enjolras sit next to her, and watched with amusement as he tried and failed to smile politely while she told him her unexamined and conservative leaning opinions on all the day's news, pleasantly oblivious of how little Enjolras agreed with her.

After dinner they retreated upstairs, this time amusing themselves with a three-board game of Risk that lasted until sunrise with a compromise between Enjolras and Feuilly's forces. Enjolras was a brutal strategist and would have easily crushed the both of them, with or without the alliance Feuilly and Grantaire formed early into the game, but playing with three boards had stretched things out and they had to negotiate a victory if they wanted to end the game and go to bed.

This time, when Grantaire's head touched the pillow he fell asleep with little trouble.

* * *

“Hey snot-face, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure thing, butt hole.”

Feuilly quirked an eyebrow. “Is that just how siblings communicate or something?”

Rose laughed at him. “Totally. You know, I used to fantasize so hard about being an only child. I finally came around on this one when he went off to college though. C'mon, seriously Grantaire. I just need a minute.” Rose tugged him into the den, which was temporarily empty as the family and guests stuffed their faces with bacon and pancakes in the kitchen and dining room. “So...what's up with the boys you brought home?”

Grantaire had an idea where that was going, based on the way his sister had been ogling his friends during dinner the night before, but he decided to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, ass hat. You brought home two gorgeous, well spoken pieces of eye candy. And from the sounds of it, they're both working class so we get the added bonus of pissing off Dad by being interested in them. Are you dibsing either of them? And, more importantly, are they both completely gay or what? Help a girl out. I introduced you to Cooper.”

“Mm, under the continued delusion straight people harbor that just being gay is enough commonality for people to click. Cooper was an asshole and we never went on a single date.”

“Hey, I did try. Besides, you're a total asshole, so how was I to know Cooper being an ass would be a turn off? Enjolras is too pretty to be straight, but then, we know my gaydar sucks. You took me completely by surprise when you came out. But what about Feuilly? He seems like a normal guy. Is he straight?”

Grantaire shrugged. He'd never asked, and it hadn't come up yet. “He's into gay rights, but that could just be a decent-human-being thing. I have no idea. And your reasoning sucks, but you're right. Enjolras is gay.”

“Thought so. So..anything going on between you guys?”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Yeah right. Only in my wildest dreams, Rose. Could you honestly see him going for me?”

Rose frowned. “It pains me to say this as your sister but Grantaire...don't be so hard on yourself. You're not, like, you're not actually a bad guy. I mean yeah, Enjolras is definitely prettier than you. But he's kind of stuck up. I think your personality makes up the difference there. Besides, you're not ugly. You're just not, you know... _him_.”

Grantaire frowned, trying to puzzle out what his sister was getting at. He'd never gotten anything close to a compliment from Rose before. His earliest memory of his big sister was her locking him out of the house and trying to convince the mailman to take him back to the hospital. They had started something like a friendship when he left for college, but there was still a good deal of antagonism in their relationship. This attempt to bolster his self-esteem was as off-putting as it was unwelcome.

“Anyway, if you like him you should go for it. I think he likes you too.”

“Huh. You really do suck at reading people. Enjolras barely puts up with me. We just have a lot of the same friends. He only came along because he didn't have anywhere else to go for Christmas.”

Rose's eyes widened. “Really? Wow, that sucks. What happened? Is his family okay or are they, like, one of those horrible stories you hear about where they kick their kid out for being gay?”

“Um...”

Rose snorted. “You don't know, do you? God, Grantaire. You take a guy home with you and it never occurs to you to ask him _why_ he's alone on Christmas?”

“Hey, Feuilly's an orphan. I knew that.” But he knew nothing about Enjolras' situation, like, at all. “Enjolras is really private, okay?”

“Feuilly's an orphan? Oh that poor guy. I should talk to him, see how he's doing.”

“Oh come on, Rose. He's not a _recent_ orphan. Please don't hit on my friend. He might be gay.”

“Well there's only one way to find out. And you know, you should consider taking a page out of my book. Stop being such a pussy. You'll never get a decent boyfriend if you don't put yourself out there.” She flicked his nose, then adjusted her pushup bra and went back into the kitchen.

Grantaire took a moment to collect himself. When he returned to the kitchen he saw Rose animatedly chatting with Feuilly, who was smiling and looked perfectly comfortable. Grantaire couldn't tell if he had any clue his sister was attracted to him or not. He debated tipping Feuilly off, couldn't tell if he'd be betraying his sister or not, and decided to just let the thing run its course. They only had a couple days left of the trip. Rose couldn't get up to too much mischief in that time.

Enjolras was sitting by the kitchen window, his resting bitch face in place as he picked at his pancakes. Grantaire's family seemed to have sensed a lack of sympathy with him and were giving him a good berth of space, almost like they did with Grantaire himself when they weren't picking at his flaws. Enjolras looked solitary but not lonely. Grantaire gazed on him for a moment, caught up once more in his stunning physical appearance.

Rose's words lingered in his mind though, and once more he took note of the gaunt cheeks, the visible collarbones, and noticed for the first time that Enjolras was wearing one of his work shirts, a plain black polo. Grantaire had never given it much thought before, but other than his work clothes Enjolras only seemed to have a couple of outfits.

Was that the big mystery? Was he really homeless?

“Grantaire, you're staring at me.”

“Huh?” Grantaire gave himself a little shake, then went to sit down next to Enjolras. “Sorry. Coffee still hasn't quite hit my system.”

“Ah. Well at least you're not accusing me of having hypnotic hair again.”

“Hey, that is a totally valid argument. You have, like, a ridiculous amount of gold tones in there. I'd need like seven different tubes of paint to get that down, at least. And that's just regular light. We'd need a full palette for a sunset.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, though he didn't seem quite as annoyed by Grantaire's banter as he usually was. “Thanks for letting me have the bed last night. It was the best sleep I've had in awhile.”

“Hey, if Feuilly doesn't care about the air mattress you can have it every night. I've got the same bed back at my apartment so it's no big deal to me to use the air mattress for a few nights.”

“You have the exact same bed? Why didn't you just move this one to the apartment? That memory foam mattress must have been expensive.”

Grantaire shrugged. “It is pretty stupid, honestly. I don't even come home for summer break or anything. But when the guest rooms fill up my parents will let people crash in my bedroom too, so it's not like this one doesn't see any use if I'm not around.”

“Ah. Um, so what's the plan for today?”

“Well, we've got a few hours to kill. I was thinking of hitting up the mall. I'm still short a few presents for my cousins. You guys can hang in if you'd rather not deal with Christmas Eve shoppers. Dinner will be at six, then we'll exchange presents within the extended fam, decorate the Christmas tree, and then off to bed so Santa can come. Typical family shit. Oh, and I watch the Chuck Jones Grinch when we go to bed. That's non-negotiable. I've done that every Christmas Eve for my entire life.”

“Your parents...still give you presents under the tree on Christmas morning?” Enjolras stared at him. “Aren't you older than me?”

Grantaire waved to indicate their surroundings. “Mom and Dad like to shop. They're very happy capitalists. And as I get some decent art supplies and a fresh stock of socks and underpants out of the deal, I'm happy to play along. Why, when do normal families stop doing Christmas presents?”

Enjolras laughed bitterly. “I've never pretended to understand what a normal family was like. But my parents stopped doing Christmas morning when I was fourteen. I got money for a few years after that.”

Grantaire took a sip of his coffee and considered whether or not he should ask a follow up question. He decided to just go for it. “Um...any particular reason you're not doing Christmas with your fam this year? Or should I just preemptively fuck off for asking.” Enjolras' expression was hardly what one would call encouraging. “Shit, I'm sorry. Not my place. I'll leave it alone. Sorry.”

He got up and went over to the sink to dump his remaining coffee and rinse out the mug. His hand shook as he did so. He retreated upstairs and started pacing in his room.

“The guy's private. Stop fucking prying. Stop prying. If he wanted to talk, he'd talk. Besides, what the fuck are you going to do anyway? It's not like you can help. Fucking useless nosy idiot...” The self-directed invective tapered off when he heard a gentle tapping on his door.

“Grantaire, are you hiding in here?” Enjolras opened the door a crack. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Grantaire released a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm really sorry. I'm not trying to pry, I swear.”

“No, I...I could be more communicative. I can see why you'd be curious, and besides...you've never struck me as being nosy. You're concerned about my welfare. I do appreciate the difference.” Enjolras sat down on the end of his bed. “It's just not a pleasant conversation. I don't like talking about my family, and I don't want you to pity me. I'm getting by, and I'll be on my feet again in no time. There's nothing for you to worry about.”

“Ah huh.” Grantaire frowned at him. “No offense, Enj, but after that little speech I think I'm more worried than ever. What's up? Did your parents kick you out or something?”

Enjolras sighed. “That's pretty much what happened. My family is a bit wealthier than yours, from the looks of it. I was dependent on them, something I never fully appreciated when I waged my culture wars against their values. I finally came out to them in September, during my grandmother's eightieth birthday party. The timing...could have been better. I'd just gotten into a fight with one of Dad's close friends, and then he was also particularly resentful that I humiliated him in front of the entire family instead of keeping the shame private. I had to drop out of school, which cost me my dorm, they wouldn't let me come home, and none of my other family is willing to brave Dad's displeasure if they were to help me out.”

“So where are you living?” Grantaire tried to keep his voice even, and failed miserably.

Enjolras, for his part, continued with his matter-of-fact recitation. “There's a shelter about twenty minutes away from the Musain. Sometimes they fill up when I'm at work, but Feuilly's been letting me stay on his couch when that happens. He'd let me stay on the couch every night but, well, he's not really doing much better than I am. I won't take help he can't afford to give. I shouldn't need the shelter for much longer anyway. I've been saving up a first, last and security. In June, Feuilly's lease is up and he's willing to go in on a two-bedroom with me. Really, I'll be on my feet again in no time, so there's nothing you need to worry about. I mean it, Grantaire. I'm not any kind of obligation to you. You don't need to try to save me.”

“Okay. I still think you should move in with me until you can move in with Feuilly.”

Enjolras crossed his arms over his chest. “You're infuriating. I knew I was going to regret telling you.”

“What? You _know_ I've got more resources than I know what to do with. Besides, it'd be mutually beneficial. I fucking hate living alone. That's why I spend so much time at your work hanging out with everyone. When I'm alone I'm stuck with my thoughts and...yeah, it doesn't end well. Having you around to keep me in line would be great. Besides, my place is right around the corner from your work.”

“I can't afford to kick in for rent.”

“I'm not asking you to. Besides, I don't pay my own rent.”

“Grantaire, your family is paying for your rent. Don't you see how that's different?”

“Not really, no.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I'm getting by fine on my own. I don't need your help.”

“I know. You're ten times stronger than I'll ever be, and it's inspiring to watch you struggle in the face of adversity, it really is. But...you don't need to struggle quite so much. It's just six months on my couch. Take the stubborn pride down a notch and help a guy out. I don't like thinking of you in a homeless shelter, Enjolras. I'll sleep way better at night knowing you're someplace safe.”

“The shelter isn't that bad.” Enjolras' words, though fiery, lacked something of his usual conviction. Grantaire arched a skeptical brow. “Fine. Some of the regulars are...a touch on the sleazy side. But mostly they leave me alone.”

“Mostly?”

“I could get the staff involved if there were ever a problem.”

“Enjolras, please. Please allow me the privilege of helping you out. For friendship's sake.” Maybe he'd finally managed a variation on the pleading puppy dog eyes that got through Enjolras' emotional armor, because Grantaire thought he could detect some wavering in the cold stare that had been turned on him. Enjolras pressed his lips together, gave a defeated sigh, and lowered his gaze.

“I'll think about it.”

Really, with him that was practically a yes. Grantaire nodded his satisfaction and backed off. “I'm gonna go grab a second cup of coffee. That first one did nothing for me. Then I'd better hit up the mall and get cracking on that Christmas shopping. If you're interested in tagging along, I'll probably be setting out in about twenty minutes. Give Feuilly a head's up for me, will you? Oh fuck, I left him alone with Rose. If she jumped him while I was gone, throw in an apology too.”

“Wait, what?”

* * *

The afternoon at the mall was almost fun enough to make up for the quick barrage of insults Daniel threw at Grantaire while he was getting his boots and coat on. Since gifts within his family tended towards the impersonal, Grantaire procured a few gift cards and considered his shopping done, leaving him free to mill about with his friends and enjoy their company until dinnertime.

Feuilly was definitely distracted. He kept dropping the thread of their conversations and gazing vapidly into space, wearing a dopey smile. Grantaire couldn't help but laugh over it. “Good god, don't tell me you actually like my sister.”

“Huh?” Feuilly gave himself a little shake. “What do you mean?”

“She told me she was going to work on you and look, now you're practically walking into walls. I've got to get her to teach me that trick. She's a fucking hypnotist or something.”

“I'm sorry, Grantaire. I didn't mean to, that is...” Oh that was too cute, him being flustered. Grantaire didn't want any graphic details or anything, but he understood that his sister was reasonably attractive and fairly good at seduction. He didn't blame Feuilly in the least for succumbing to her charms.

“Dude, it's cool. You have my full blessing to like Rose. Just remember, half the reason she likes you to begin with is because it'll annoy our parents. That and because you're hot. There's no substance to her feelings.”

“Well it's a bit early for substance, considering I just met her myself. I think she's very pretty and pleasant.”

“Ah,wonderful. That's definitely what she was going for.”

That night at dinner Feuilly sat next to Rose, and the two of them were perfectly insensible of everyone else at the table. Grantaire's aunt clearly thought they were adorable, but general consensus in the family was not favorable. It added an element of interest to what was an otherwise tedious family event.

Exchanging gifts was much better. Rose grabbed her loot and disappeared with Feuilly, leaving everyone else to dig under the tree for their presents from her. Enjolras sat in the corner and read, and Grantaire navigated the awkwardness of his family relatively alone (he did look to Enjolras for strength when his uncle gave him a Bill O'Reilly book because he 'loved history so much' and that helped).

Once the gifts were finished Sylvie started to get fidgety. “Where on earth is your sister?”

“Indisposed,” Grantaire guessed.

“Grantaire!”

“What? I used a euphemism. It's not like I said they were fucking.”

“Jesus Christ, child. Your grandmother is sitting _right there_.”

“Lucky for me she took out her hearing aid again. Besides, Rose is twenty five. Did anyone actually think she was still a virgin? I don't think even Gram harbors those illusions.”

“We are not talking like this on Christmas Eve!”

They ended up decorating the tree without Rose or Feuilly. Grantaire was still giggling about his mother's outrage when he and Enjolras turned in. “She's such a hypocrite. When I was nine, she screwed my piano teacher at my birthday party. They did it in the face painting tent right behind the moon bounce. Everyone heard them, and let me tell you, that'll spoil a family event way more than discreetly wandering off before a tree decorating.”

“Grantaire, that's terrible.”

He shrugged. “I thought it was funny. I mean, it explained why my piano teacher got invited to my birthday party to begin with. I'd thought that was a little odd. Besides, my dad's the real prize. He hooked up with my aunt at Rose's christening. Mom has never let him forget cheating on her with her baby sister in a house of God. She gets a week long spa getaway on their anniversary every year because of it.”

“And they're both...pretty open about their affairs?”

“Yeah. Took me the longest damn time to realize that it was one of my family's quirks and that most peoples' parents weren't like that.” Grantaire started looking through his cabinet of Blu-rays and DVDs, searching for his copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. “It's not like my folks have an open marriage either. They're doing it to hurt each other. It's my worst fucking nightmare, honestly, that I end up like them. Cuz you know that thing where you model the behavior you're raised with? I fall for the shittiest guys. I could see me winding up trapped in a loveless relationship just because it was familiar and, to an extent, comfortable.”

“I certainly hope that won't be the case. Grantaire, falling into those patterns is usually unconscious. Your awareness of your tendency towards jerks is a good indicator that you won't ultimately fall victim to it. And if you're half as good a romantic partner as you are a friend, your boyfriend will be lucky to have you.”

Grantaire came alarmingly close to dropping his DVD on the floor. He fumbled it into the player and then sat down on his bed. “Thanks. Um. Let's go back to talking about Christmas. That got really heavy.”

Enjolras smirked at him. “You really don't know what to do when people compliment you, do you?”

“Hey, you met my family. Can you blame me?”

“Sadly, no. It's not surprising, with all the emotional abuse you've endured.”

“Mm. And I've never even been kicked out of my house.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you're freakishly graceful and possibly some kind of magical creature, with how well you handle shitty situations. Now can we quit awkwardly complimenting each other and watch cartoons?”

“Of course. I'm always down for cartoons that rail against mindless consumerism. Although I do think the point would have been better made if the Grinch had let the Whos' mindlessly purchased trinkets fall into oblivion.”

“I think the point flew over your head by at least a mile, you socialist bastard.”

* * *

It was either very late or very early in the morning when Feuilly returned to the room. Grantaire was pulled to a slow, foggy sort of wakefulness by the sound of a harshly whispered conversation.

“You of all people can hardly criticize me for being charmed by a member of this family.”

“Quiet, he'll hear you.”

“And what if he does? Enjolras, you really need to talk to him.”

“I can't, Feuilly. Just, not right now.”

“Look, I know you're going through a lot. But that's no reason to close yourself off like this. Grantaire's a good guy and he really cares about you. Anyone who looks at the two of you can see it.”

Grantaire woke up a little more at that, but wisely feigned continued sleep. He turned his head on the pillow a bit, freeing an ear. From the sounds of it, Enjolras and Feuilly were sitting on the bed and likely weren't looking in his direction.

“I know. Look, it's...it's more complicated than just me being a general mess.”

“Well are you at least admitting you like him back yet?” There was a lengthy pause. Grantaire held his breath. “Enjolras...”

“Feuilly, leave it alone.” He sounded more irritated than Grantaire had ever heard him. That little flicker of hope he hadn't been aware of nursing sputtered and died. “I never asked for your counsel.”

“Yeah, well what kind of friend would it make me if I left you to stumble along in willful ignorance on your own? To you _or_ Grantaire? You guys could really help each other out. At the very least, promise me you'll stay with him until we get the apartment situation sorted out. The shelter's underfunded, short staffed, and skeevy as fuck. I really hate that you're staying there, Enj. If you won't live on my couch then for the love of God please live on Grantaire's. You can't use not having rent money as an excuse this time. Grantaire doesn't pay his own rent.”

“I told him I'd think about it and I am.”

Feuilly sighed. “What's holding you back? You must trust him by this point. I think he's earned it.”

“I know. Believe me, my opinion of Grantaire's character is not the problem. I actively disliked him for less than a week. He won me over almost immediately. It's just...he's already seen more of my vulnerability than I'd have liked. His first fucking impulse when he saw me was to try to take care of me, Feuilly. That's...that's never been something I've needed or desired. I look after myself.”

“The guy's a nurturer. He likes to help people. It's kind of remarkable, given the example his asshole family set him. I mean seriously, those are some of the most self-absorbed people I've ever met, and Grantaire's nothing like them. But I can see how his behavior would chafe against your sense of independence. He's not doing it to patronize you. And no offense, but you could use some help right now.”

“You're all going to gang up on me, aren't you? God, I never should have told him.”

“C'mon, Enjolras. What would you do, if it was one of us living in a skeevy homeless shelter while you had a nice apartment and an open couch?”

“That's...not fair. Fine, I'll stay on his couch. Now go to sleep. We have another fun filled day of not punching his father in the throat to get through before we can go home.”

* * *

By the time Grantaire woke up the following morning, the whispered conversation he'd overheard between his friends had grown hazy in his mind, to the point where he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't dreamed it. At any rate, he was glad he couldn't be caught in his eavesdropping, as he wasn't one hundred percent certain what he'd eavesdropped.

He was left with a vague understanding that Enjolras didn't hate him, although as he still couldn't wrap his head around that thought it only served to unsettle him.

Once more, Feuilly ditched them after breakfast to spend some time alone with Rose. Grantaire had a suspicion that his father was hoping to intercept them, but Rose proved faster and stealthier than he was ready for. While Grantaire was rinsing dishes out in the kitchen, Daniel came up behind him and asked where his sister was.

Grantaire looked around and shrugged. “Dunno, but her sticky plate of syrup and waffle remnants is right here. She really ought to be doing her own dishes at her age.”

“Well where's that friend of yours? The ugly freckled one?”

Grantaire snorted. “God, but you're really determined not to see anything redeeming at all in my working class friends, aren't you? Even when it comes to something as inane as them being good looking. I assume you're talking about Feuilly, since Enjolras doesn't have any freckles. And I don't know, but he at least rinsed out his own coffee mug and cereal bowl. Could have loaded them into the dishwasher though.”

Daniel looked impatient. “Where could they have gotten to at this hour?”

“Guess we should have done presents after breakfast. My best guess is Rose is modeling the new lacy bras Santa got her for Christmas. Now do you see why I always say it's weird that you and Mom buy us underpants as presents?”

“You'd be using gray, distended scraps of fabric if we didn't,” Sylvie said cheerfully. Her eyes were downcast though. “I wish Rose wouldn't do this on the holidays.”

Grantaire almost said something about face painting tents but just managed to stop himself. However, his father happily went there, and in no time both of them were yelling at each other about their various affairs. Grantaire was a little startled – not that they were fighting, but that they were fighting in front of Enjolras. They were usually much more restrained in front of company. Perhaps Enjolras' poverty had rendered him invisible?

Enjolras touched Grantaire's arm and steered him from the room. They were almost at the staircase when Sylvie started screaming about accidental pregnancies, and that if it weren't for the kids she'd have left Daniel years ago. It's not like men weren't interested in her.

“Oh wow. Does she really think she did us some kind of favor by staying with Dad?”

“It sounds like a grand sacrifice, to be sure, but not necessarily one that achieved its aim,” Enjolras said. Grantaire snorted and threw him a quick smile.

Once the bedroom door was locked they both landed on Grantaire's bed. The armchair by the window had been Enjolras' go-to spot the first day of the trip. Grantaire rolled onto his side so that he was facing the boy lazily sprawled beside him, and reflected on the difference. His almost-dream conversation must have been true. Enjolras seemed a lot more comfortable with him.

His mind couldn't process the thought. There wasn't any other information to counter it with, alas. Enjolras wasn't giving him any comforting signs of hostility to work with. He had nothing but the irrefutable conclusion that his crush enjoyed his company and considered him a friend. But that wasn't how anything was supposed to work.

Grantaire rolled onto his other side and faced the window instead. “So what do you want to do until dinner? We usually make it more of a lunch thing, so it'll be over by four and then unless Feuilly wants to hook up with my sister again we can probably get on the road right after. I'd been thinking about heading back tomorrow instead, but since you don't want to take more time off work...”

“Is it weird to you, that Feuilly's...um...I'm not actually sure what he and Rose are doing.”

“They're hooking up, Enjolras. It's not serious. They've both said so.” He sat up and stretched out his back. “Honestly, it's not my favorite thing in the world, but I'm also not unused to it. Rose tends to like my friends. I guess we have similar tastes. She always ended up dating the straight boys I was pining after.”

Enjolras' face scrunched up in dislike. “I think I'm glad I don't have any siblings.”

“Eh, it's not so bad.”

“But the two of you look alike. That must have been so weird, to have boys you had feelings for date a female version of you.”

Grantaire blinked at him. “I don't look like Rose.” Rose was pretty and charming. Her jokes always landed the way they were supposed to, and she got phone numbers when she went out to bars, and she'd never once been shoved into a locker and had to stay there until the janitor let her out. Superficially, Grantaire supposed they had a little bit in common. They had their mother's thick dark hair, although Rose's tended towards the silky soft but voluminous while Grantaire's did more of a rat's nest meets hobbit sort of thing. And they were pale and had eyes just a tad too large for their faces, but that's where the similarities ended.

Enjolras stared at Grantaire a moment, intently studying his face. The scrutiny was uncomfortable and Grantaire ended up lowering his gaze to a loose thread he started picking at on his comforter.

“Maybe not, I suppose. I think you look a fair bit alike though. It wasn't meant as an insult or anything. I may not be attracted to women, but I can tell your sister is pretty.”

Grantaire had nothing to say to that, so they sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, Grantaire staring out the window at the light flurries while his brain eagerly picked apart and rearranged everything he'd said since waking that morning in such a way that he came off as negatively as possible. Five minutes in he had to wonder why he even had friends to begin with, and that his parents _hadn't_ let Rose send him back to the hospital when he was a baby.

“Grantaire? I, um, I was talking to Feuilly about the offer you made me and...if it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, I think I would like to sleep on your couch. Just, just until Feuilly and I get our place together.”

Grantaire turned to look at him. “Of course it's okay. I'm the one who suggested it.”

“I don't want to be in your way.”

“And you won't be.”

“I'll barely be there, if it helps. Just to sleep, really. I spend most of my time at work anyway.”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire couldn't help but smirk at him. “I'd honestly really like it if you stayed with me. It would even almost be a favor to me, okay? And my apartment's a pretty good size. If you had a bed, I'd offer to clean out my extra room and turn it into a bedroom for you, but as is you should probably just take the couch. And you're welcome to take up as much space in the apartment as you want. The whole point of this is that you should have a place to go to where you feel safe and comfortable, okay?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, a conflicted, difficult to read expression on his face. He slowly nodded. “Thank you. I could have kept going with the shelter, but it will be nice not to have to.”

“Indeed. Apologies in advance for all my annoying habits, but as you've been staying with me for the past couple of days you should already have an idea of what you're signing up for.”

“Um...” Enjolras frowned. “Are you making a joke?”

“Kind of?” Grantaire shrugged. “Just the usual self-deprecation. Why?”

“Well, you're actually one of the most thoughtful hosts I've ever encountered. You even let me and Feuilly have your bed.”

God, but they could have used Feuilly around to tactfully change the subject. Grantaire went back to resolutely staring at the flurries, and after a few minutes Enjolras got up and grabbed a book. He retreated to his armchair and Grantaire tried not to be too disappointed. They'd started to have a moment, but he couldn't sustain it. It was his own fault, really.

They both ended up quietly doing their own thing until dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the big reveal. Sorry if it was anti-climactic. When I started writing this, Enjolras' circumstances weren't meant to be mysterious at all. But where I'm telling the story from Grantaire's POV exclusively, it came out that way as a side-effect.
> 
> There is, of course, a bit more to Enjolras' fight with his parents than he's letting on, but I'm only discovering the details of that right now, and it won't be showing up in the fic for quite a few more chapters... ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bringing the rating up because I feel like the language of this one is beyond T. R's got a potty mouth, and besides that, I'm going to be getting dark in a chapter or so.
> 
> I've written scenes that are way ahead of where I'm at now and the boys haven't had any sexy times yet, alas.

“Oh good.”

Enjolras' voice had been quiet, the comment clearly directed only to himself. However, Grantaire was still hyper-attuned to Enjolras' presence, even more so than usual since this was the first time Enjolras was seeing his apartment. This wasn't like his old childhood bedroom, which was frozen in time. Grantaire could excuse the contents of that room on some less mature phase of his life, or some sort of meddling from his parents. His apartment was his own space, entirely. It reflected him and he wanted it to make a good impression, though with his habitual gloomy outlook he didn't expect that Enjolras would be at all impressed with it.

“Um...great?” Grantaire cringed. That was awkward. “Um, yeah. So anyway, this is the living room. Couch is there. It's super comfy, I promise. And if you need your own space we can find a way to cram it into the second bedroom. I'll just have to clear it out a little first because when you live alone extra spaces tend to fill up with crap if you're not vigilant and...um. Yeah.” He waved his hand, encompassing the room before them. “Woo.”

“Grantaire, it's fine. The couch does look very comfortable.” Enjolras set his bag down beside the coffee table. He was almost-smiling, so he may very well have been happy. “The whole apartment looks comfortable, honestly. I was a little worried it might be as...um...I can't think of the word for it, but something more in line with your family home.”

“Mom and Dad have never touched this place. They just send me money, and sometimes Mom mails me shit she buys from catalogs.”

“Like the cat blanket?”

“No, that was Jehan.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

“No, I can totally see how you'd think that came from a tacky catalog. I mean, it might have. Jehan giving it to me doesn't really make that less likely.”

The living room was a pretty good size, which was actually kind of unfortunate since Enjolras was such a private person. Grantaire figured he himself would just end up spending more time in his bedroom while he had a guest. The kitchen was off to the side of the living room and there was barely any wall and no door separating them, and then the hall to the two bedrooms and the bathroom was fairly short. Grantaire liked the idea of clearing out the second bedroom and sticking the couch in there, but Enjolras was adamant about being as little trouble as possible and was fighting him on the suggestion. As Enjolras definitely had a stronger will, Grantaire figured the couch was probably going to stay put, but he determined to pitch the idea at least a few more times before giving up.

In an effort to make the place more appealing for his house guest, Grantaire had borrowed a bunch of left-leaning history books from Feuilly and Combeferre and left them in stacks on the coffee table. He'd also filled his fridge with vegetarian organic groceries. Some of them were even vegan, and he'd gotten gluten free bread in case that was important. He was pretty sure it wasn't, but he also barely listened when his friends were talking about corporate farming and had very little idea of what counted as food related ethics and what counted as trendy fad dieting.

Enjolras sat down on the sofa. He rested his hands on his knees and took a slow, steady breath. Grantaire stood to the side and watched him, trying to gauge his mood. He opened his mouth to speak a few times but just managed to stop himself.

Enjolras was private. Grantaire needed to respect his desire for space.

“I'm, uh, I'll just be drawing in my room if you need anything.”

“Actually, before you go...is there somewhere I can do a load of laundry?”

“Oh. Duh, yeah, of course. There's a washer and drier in this little nook behind the kitchen, right next to the pantry.” Grantaire showed him where the machines were hidden, and once they got Enjolras' backpack full of clothes into the washer he ended up giving him a more thorough tour of the apartment (Enjolras didn't react at all to the vegetarian goodies or the bread, and Grantaire told himself he wasn't disappointed). Once all the common areas had been shown, Grantaire walked over to his bedroom.

“I mostly hang in my room,” which wasn't _quite_ a lie -he'd be spending most of his time in there from then on. “So if you need anything, just let me know. I, uh, I don't want to be an asshole or anything, but I noticed you don't have a lot of clothes with you. Or like, any pajamas. If you ever want to borrow anything, my closet's open.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras peered into the room and then returned his gaze to Grantaire, and Grantaire immediately broke eye contact. “I don't want to intrude on you more than I already am, but I have found that I miss real pajamas. Wearing slacks and jeans to sleep isn't fun.”

“Fuck no, that sucks. Hold on.” Grantaire went over to his dresser and rooted around until he found his favorite pair of black fleece pajama pants, the ones with the little blue snowflakes. “Here, take these. They're like magically snuggly. It'll make up for sleeping on the couch.”

“I don't mind sleeping on the couch. But thank you.” Enjolras held the pajama pants to his chest. “Is it all right if I use your shower?”

“You really don't have to ask.” God, he hoped this awkwardness would go away soon, although he couldn't for the life of him imagine ever relaxing in Enjolras' near-constant presence.

“Right. Right, of course. Sorry. Um...you said the towels were in the closet by the second bedroom, right?”

“Yup. Help yourself to anything you need.” Grantaire shut his bedroom door and then flopped face-down onto his bed. “He's been here for fifteen minutes and he's already getting naked.” No, he shouldn't think about that. Enjolras' first instinct had been to do laundry, and then he'd wanted to get clean. And Grantaire was being a very bad friend for imagining what that might look like…

The house was far too quiet. He could hear the pipes rattling as the shower roared to life. Grantaire rolled off the bed and snatched his headphones from his desk. He meant to sketch some ideas out for his portfolio but ended up doing four separate studies of dripping wet wavy blond hair.

* * *

In light of the new living situation, Enjolras finally shared his secret with the rest of the group. They were once more gathered at the Musain, catching up after their holiday apart and ironing out the plans for New Years, when Enjolras approached the table and set a fresh cup of coffee in front of Grantaire. “Just so everyone knows, I'm staying with Grantaire for awhile.”

Combeferre and Prouvaire traded a look while Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up his head. Bahorel balled up a napkin and threw it at Grantaire. “What the fuck, dude? How was that not what you opened with when you got here?”

“I wasn't really sure what to say. We didn't talk about it.” He threw the napkin back at Bahorel.

“I for one am relieved to hear it,” Joly said, and something about his tone silenced any bickering Bahorel or Courfeyrac might have let loose. Joly ran a nervous hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “You were starting to really scare me, Enjolras.”

“Me too,” Feuilly said. “Seriously, thanks for wearing him down, R. We appreciate it.”

“Okay, what's going on? I'm definitely missing something.” Bahorel looked between Joly, Feuilly, and Enjolras pointedly.

Enjolras sighed and sat down in the seat they'd left open for him to use on his breaks. “I've been homeless since September. Mostly, I've been staying at a shelter a few blocks from here. When Grantaire found out, he insisted I stay on his couch.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Prouvaire looked disappointed. He lowered his gaze to his notebook and went back to doodling.

“It's just for a few months,” Grantaire said. “He and Feuilly are going to get a place in June when Feuilly's lease is up.”

“So that's why you're working so many hours. Security deposit and all that jazz,” Courfeyrac said with a nod. “Well that solves that mystery.”

“I assume you still don't want to talk about it?” Combeferre asked pointedly.

“Not really, no. I just figured you might all notice Grantaire and I leaving together more often.” He shrugged. “I didn't want to confuse anyone. Anyway, I'd better get back to work. Azelma called out tonight and Louison's doing the shipment. I've already left the new hire at the counter too long.”

“You guys have another new hire?” Bahorel perked up for that.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “He's male.” Courfeyrac made an excited noise. “And straight.”

“Oh. Well what's the sense in hiring someone like that?” he pouted.

As soon as Enjolras was out of earshot the others started pestering Grantaire for details. Taking a cue from Prouvaire, he opened his sketchbook and kept his gaze focused on it. “Guys, aren't you all forgetting something? Feuilly and Joly are sitting right there and they actually know more about it than I do.”

“This is true.” Courfeyrac slid down in his chair, no doubt so he could kick Feuilly's calf as he was sitting slightly closer than Joly. “Come on, Enjolras broke the ice about it. He won't care if you give us some of the details. In fact, you'd be doing him a favor because then we won't bug him and he won't have to talk about it.”

“Do you really expect that to work?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

“Can we please just talk about something else?” Joly glanced around the table imploringly. “It's resolved. Grantaire finally talked Enjolras into taking the help he needs so now we don't have to worry anymore. Let's focus on something fun, like the New Years party.”

With only a bit more effort, Joly, Grantaire, and Feuilly got everyone focused on New Years. Courfeyrac had promised them epic shenanigans at his place, which was nice and all but Grantaire was much more invested in watching the Twilight Zone marathon, which was his New Years tradition. Courfeyrac scowled and agreed to have it on as background noise.

“And there'll be Chinese food too, right?” Bahorel asked.

“Fine, yes, we can get Chinese food. Now can we please get back to planning the drinking games?”

“Are you two doing homework? How are you doing homework already? The new semester doesn't start for over a week.” Grantaire leaned into Combeferre's space and took a closer peek at his laptop screen.

“I'm taking my research seminar this semester. Technically, I've been working on this paper since the summer.” He smirked at Grantaire and then nodded towards Courfeyrac. “And I have no productive input for your drinking game, so I'll just quietly amuse myself with my studies.”

“Passion project,” Prouvaire said simply. He held up his notebook defensively, which was recognizably one of his personal writing journals and not something he used for schoolwork, and then set it back on the table and resumed his feverish writing.

“I just can't with you guys. Terrible sense of priorities.” Courfeyrac picked up his chair and moved it to the far end of the table, as though the nerdery were contagious, and made a huddle with Bossuet and Bahorel. Joly chewed on his bottom lip for a second, eying the stacks of books surrounding Combeferre and Prouvaire longingly, but ultimately pulled his chair up next to Bossuet's.

Feuilly laughed at his friend, then turned to face Grantaire. “Looks like that's only intensified since we left.”

“If Joly's sweet on Bossuet he should just ask him out,” Grantaire said.

Feuilly quirked an eyebrow. “You're one to talk.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Combeferre gave an audible snort. Grantaire kicked him under the table. “Aren't you studying?”

“You're sitting directly across from me. I can _hear_ you, and that was definitely worth a snort of derision. Grantaire, no one at this table, no one in this universe is pining more openly than you.”

“Yes, but if Joly asks Bossuet out, he'll say yes. My crush yells at me for sexually harassing him-”

“When you're drunk,” Feuilly interrupted. “He likes you well enough the rest of the time.”

“We're living together now. It's in my best interest not to make Enjolras long for a can of pepper spray.” He took a sip of his coffee and scowled. “It took too long to convince him to crash on my couch as is. I really don't want him thinking the homeless shelter is the safer alternative.”

“He doesn't. R, he wouldn't.” Feuilly gave his arm a squeeze. “I'll lay off about the crush.”

“Much obliged.” Grantaire nodded at him, and then balled up another napkin and threw it down the table. It bounced off of Bossuet's hat and landed on Joly's lap. “Hey, are you guys a thing yet?”

“R!” Joly's face turned bright red.

Bossuet frowned. “I was working on it. God, don't ever volunteer to be a wing man. You suck at it.”

“Wait, what? Does that mean you have been trying to flirt with me?” Joly's voice broke a little in a surprised squeak. It was possibly the cutest thing any of them had ever witnessed.

Bossuet rubbed at the back of his neck. “Trying is the operative word, I guess. I, uh...wasn't sure how it was going. I tried to ask you out a few times but you always turned it into a group hangout.”

“See?” Feuilly rolled his eyes. “I told you you shouldn't invite me on your dates.”

“Those were supposed to be dates?” Joly looked over the moon. He took Bossuet's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Please can we go on dates? And flirt for real?”

“All the dates, and all the flirting.” Bossuet leaned over for a kiss, and the pushed together tables erupted in applause and a fair bit of hollering. Enjolras came in from the main room to see if anything was the matter.

“Oh.” He nodded in understanding when he saw Joly's flushed face, Bossuet's arm wrapped snugly around him. “So that's a thing now?”

“Oh god, Joly. Even _Enjolras_ noticed you guys were into each other. He never notices anything,” Feuily said with a laugh.

“I notice when it's not about me,” Enjolras said.

Feuilly's smile was so wide it probably hurt. “Truer words have never been spoken.”

“Shut up. I'm going back to work. Keep it down in here or I'll throw you out.”

“I'd like to see you try,” Bahorel called after him. “In seriousness though, I think this calls for stronger drinks than the cafe has. Want to move this party over to the Corinth?”

“Bahorel, you don't give a fuck about me and Joly going out. You just want to get wasted.”

“Your point?”

“No point. Just an observation. What do you say, Jol?” Bossuet gave Joly's hand a tight squeeze and, still looking endearingly excited, Joly nodded.

Grantaire had yet to tempt the over burdened CNA and nursing student out for a night of drunken carousing at the Corinth. He was pretty sure the kid was going to go into shock when he saw the state of the dive bar. “Oh there's no way I'm missing this. Anyone else who's down, I'll buy the first round.” He grabbed his coat and started for the door.

“Bye,” Combeferre called without looking up from his computer. Prouvaire nodded at them as his friends cleared the tables.

Enjolras was stuck ringing up a particularly unpleasant looking soccer mom when the group made their exit. His lack of poker face wasn't working in his favor at all, and then when he saw his friends leaving en masse his expression turned positively wounded. Grantaire stopped in his tracks, and briefly considered remaining at the cafe, on the off-chance he was able to brighten Enjolras' shift any.

The customer snapped her fingers impatiently. “Excuse me, kiddo. Did you listen to anything I said? I have a _soy allergy_ so if there is even a drop of soy milk in this latte I will sue the pants off your boss. You'd better be listening to me. I want my drink made correctly, and I want it made correctly the first time I order it.”

“Of course. Vanilla latte, whole milk. It'll be up in a minute.”

She snapped again. “You're not even looking at me. Is there a manager I can speak to?”

Grantaire was severely tempted to stay behind, but then, there really wasn't anything he could do to help. He'd almost gotten Enjolras in trouble a couple times already by trying to stand up for him to the rude customers. He decided to text Prouvaire and Combeferre once they got to the Corinth and ask them to check on Enjolras. And maybe he'd stop somewhere on the way home and pick up some ice cream or something. Ice cream was good when you had a shitty day at work, or so Grantaire assumed, never having actually had a shitty job to put him in a bad mood.

Well, he liked ice cream after a shitty day at school. That had to be comparable.

Guilt, sorted, he focused on preparing a toast for the group's first couple.

* * *

It was well into the morning before Grantaire stumbled home. Mindful of the fact that Enjolras would be sleeping on the couch, he tried to be as quiet as possible. Unfortunately, with the night he'd had his attempt was not terribly successful.

First he dropped his keys, then he swore loudly, then he swore again because he remembered he was trying to be quiet, and so finally managed to whisper his last f-bomb. He switched on the lights by habit, swore again, and then switched them back off. Then, since he couldn't see, he tripped on Enjolras' backpack, whacked his shin on the coffee table, and wound up landing in a painful heap on the floor.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras shot up into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” Grantaire choked out. “Wonderful. Urgh.” He struggled halfway to his feet, overbalanced, and landed on the floor again with a loud thud. “How was your night?”

“Terrible, and I've got to be up early so I'd like to get back to sleep. Um...do you need any help?”

“Nope. Why would I need help? I always crawl on all fours to my bedroom. Doesn't everyone?” He kept his head down, and hoped Enjolras might forget about this by morning. Maybe he'd think he was dreaming.

“Grantaire, isn't your room the other way?”

“Huh?” His palm landed on linoleum, and he realized he'd crawled over to the kitchen. “Oops. My mistake. Right, bedroom. This way.” He tried heaving himself up onto his feet again and after a few minutes of swaying dangerously actually managed to keep his feet under him. Leaning heavily against the wall, he started stumbling towards his room. “Sorry again for waking you. And m'sorry I forgot your ice cream.”

“I didn't have any ice cream.”

“Right, because I forgot. Sorry. Good night, Enjolras.”

“Good...good night.” Enjolras leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes.

Grantaire collapsed onto his bed as soon as he got into his room, fully dressed and with his shoes on. He let out a low groan and pulled his pillow over his face. “New rule. No more drinking contests with Bahorel while Enjolras is staying here.” Drinking Bahorel under the table had been fun, but was decidedly not worth it if he was going to make a spectacle of himself in front of Enjolras when he got home.

Of course, the sound, sensible resolution was completely forgotten by the early afternoon, when Grantaire woke up.

* * *

Grantaire's mouth had the texture and taste of old gym socks. Owing to his level of intoxication he hadn't fitfully tossed and turned the way he did when he went to bed sober, so instead he was curled up in the corner of the bed with his head surrounded by pillows, avoiding any and all light entering his room.

Actually, the room was pleasantly dark. Someone had drawn the curtains for him. And his shoes were off. He was pretty sure he'd fallen into bed with them on. He certainly hadn't pulled a blanket over himself either.

He groaned, wishing the bed would swallow him whole when he realized what must have happened. Enjolras must have tucked him in, which meant that not only had he witnessed Grantaire's spectacularly embarrassing entrance, but he'd also seen him passed out, drooling, snoring, and probably stinking to high heaven.

He really should have given this insisting Enjolras live with him thing more thought. Well, no, that wasn't right. He wanted Enjolras to have a safe space to sleep at night. What he needed to do was be less of a mess while he had his house guest.

Right, like that was even possible.

Besides, there was no point in trying to put a good face on anything. Enjolras was never going to be interested in him. And even if, by some freakish stroke of good fortune Enjolras did take enough pity on Grantaire to go on a date with him, Grantaire would be unable to sustain any kind of relationship with someone so much better than him. Enjolras would eventually be confronted with the dismal reality that was Grantaire, and he'd lose interest. So Enjolras might as well get the full picture while they were “friends.” (Grantaire was still mostly convinced that Enjolras only put up with him because they had friends in common, despite having been given plenty of evidence to the contrary).

Tempting though it was to lie in bed all day and curse his existence, Grantaire did actually have things to accomplish. He chugged some water, threw back an aspirin, showered, and once he was feeling somewhat decent left the apartment. It was almost two o'clock before he managed it, which wasn't great, but all things considered it could have been a hell of a lot worse. He still had three hours before the campus bookstore closed. Really, this was almost even like having a healthy schedule and habits.

He stopped by the Musain first thing to get some coffee. He could have made it at home, but Prouvaire was right. The stuff at the Musain really was a lot better than what he got at the grocery store.

And he was kind of curious about how Enjolras would treat him after the previous night (or very early morning, he supposed).

Unfortunately, Enjolras wasn't at the register. It was the new barista that had annoyed Courfeyrac with his heterosexuality. Grantaire looked him over and couldn't help but smirk. The kid was definitely Courfeyrac's type, which was a shame. If this kid had been even a smidge gay, Courfeyrac totally could have charmed the pants off of him. It was very different from Grantaire's situation with the sexy barista he was hung up on.

Grantaire ordered his coffee and handed over his debit card. “Is Enjolras around?”

“I think he's cleaning tables in the other room,” the barista answered. “Either that or he's cleaning the fridge out back. Shoot. You know, I don't actually remember where he said he was going.”

“Ah. Well, when you see him again just tell him Grantaire stopped in and said hi.”

“Oh, you're Grantaire! I thought you looked familiar. I'm Marius. My coworkers told me about you. You're the one who always tries to flirt with Enjolras and there are all these good stories about...oh, I probably wasn't supposed to say anything about that, was I?”

“Nah, probably not. Don't worry about it, kid. I can't say I'm surprised you guys are spouting amusing anecdotes about me. I certainly generate enough of them. Cheers, Marius.” He saluted him with his to-go cup of coffee and shuffled out of the cafe without checking for Enjolras in the back.

* * *

“Are you...dusting?”

“You have cobwebs all over you ceiling and in the little nook above the bookcase.” Enjolras was up on tiptoes, reaching around with a duster Grantaire was pretty sure he'd never seen before. The t-shirt Enjolras was wearing, a faded old Green Day t-shirt Grantaire had had since he was twelve, was riding up a bit, showing a few inches of tempting gold toned skin.

If he'd been drunk he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from saying something inane about how good looking Enjolras was. However, Grantaire was completely sober and in a reticent sort of mood, so he only stared for a second before giving himself a little shake and continuing to divest himself of shoes and coat.

“I heard you stopped by work. I was only out back. You should have asked Marius to get me.”

“Eh, I would have said hi if you were out front, but I really was just there to get a coffee.”

“Oh. I can, I can bring you a bag of our coffee, if you'd like. I saw that you have a coffee maker, but the stuff you've been buying doesn't look very good.”

“Yeah, it's total shit. I never noticed until Prouvaire started dragging us to the Musain. But it's cool, you don't have to bring me coffee.” Grantaire hugged the bag of text books to his chest and started walking towards his room.

Enjolras set the duster down and turned to face him, and he slowed his step. “I bought you ice cream.”

“Huh?” Grantaire frowned. “Why?”

“Um...you'd said, you'd said something about ice cream last night when you got home. That you'd forgotten it. So I thought I'd...anyway, I wasn't sure what kind to get so I just went with chocolate. You like chocolate cookies so it seemed safe.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” Grantaire chewed on his lower lip, and tried to remember why he'd been thinking about ice cream to begin with. “Um yeah. I'll just be in my room, if you need anything. And stop cleaning. You don't, you don't _have_ to do that stuff to stay here, you know.”

“I know. I just thought...I wanted to help a little.” God, the collar on that old shirt was practically non-existent. Enjolras was so gangly and lean that it rode much lower on him than when Grantaire wore it. “R? Is everything okay?”

Grantaire gave himself a shake. “Fine, yeah. Just feeling kind of bleh today. Anywho, gonna go hide for awhile.”

“Oh. Are you not meeting up with the others tonight?”

Grantaire made an iffy motion with his hand, and almost dropped the bag of books. “Maybe. Dunno. I'm not feeling great and I'd probably have to take some courage shots before I went out and since I got hammered last night I probably shouldn't...have said any of that aloud. Shit. Yeah, room now. Bye.” He turned on his heel, dropped the bag of books by his desk, and soundly closed his bedroom door behind him.

The vacuum cleaner turned on a few minutes later. Grantaire sat on his floor staring at the door and listening to Enjolras clean his house.

For once, he was actually looking forward to school starting back up. He was finally taking Art History, a requirement for his major that he'd been putting off since it was renowned as a finicky, difficult class. He'd been warned several times over that his laziness and bullshitting wouldn't cut it with this particular professor, and as such he'd procrastinated the class until the last semester of his junior year. But honestly, with Enjolras living in his apartment giving him endless opportunities to humiliate himself and amp up his anxiety and nerves, maybe the distraction of even arduous memorization heavy schoolwork would be welcome.

Anything had to be better than that sinking feeling of dread inadequacy that he couldn't turn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got one more section to write that I'm kinda struggling with and then pages and pages and pages of stuff that's already written. The next update might take me a bit, but they should come pretty steadily for awhile after that (unless Halloween kicks my butt)
> 
> Also, when picturing Grantaire's apartment you should be picturing lots of tacky decorative touches from Prouvaire. The cat blanket (a nod to an actual wonderfully hideous fleece monstrosity my mother gave me for Christmas) is just the tip of the no-taste-whatsoever iceberg.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, Combeferre's downstairs. If you're coming to Courf's party we gotta leave now...are you reading my textbooks?”

It was kind of a pointless question as that was clearly what Enjolras was doing. He was sitting cross legged in the middle of the living room floor with Grantaire's art history textbook. The rest of the new schoolbooks were on the coffee table, the university bookstore plastic bag folded up conscientiously beside them. Grantaire had been double checking his purchases against an updated list on the bookstore's website at the kitchen table that morning and forgotten to put them back in his room. Leave it to Enjolras to be temped by a bag full of books, even dull looking texts from a major he was too polite to actually call trivial (though he very clearly thought it was).

“You left them out and I was curious. This is pretty intensive reading. I'd had no idea being an art major was this difficult.”

“Well art history's a notorious bitch, thus me putting it off this long. But yeah, it's actually a lot of work. Luckily I like to paint, and that's most of the work. Seriously, get a move on or we won't have a ride.”

“Okay.” Enjolras returned the book to the stack and climbed to his feet. He paused and quirked an eyebrow when Grantaire made an exasperated noise. “What?”

“You're still wearing your work clothes.”

“And?”

“It's a party! You're not supposed to wear your work clothes. You're supposed to be having fun tonight.” He took out his phone and texted Combeferre, letting him know they were going to be a few minutes.

“My other clothes are dirty. You know I don't have that many outfits, and more than half of them are work clothes.”

“Just come on.” Grantaire walked into his room and impatiently started going through the things in his dresser. He figured the black skinny jeans Enjolras was wearing would be fine, but damned if he was going to wear that Musain black polo on a night off they'd gone to great lengths to secure for him.

Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, he'd stupidly invited half of Enjolras' coworkers to the party, making it nearly impossible for him to find coverage. Thankfully, Azelma's older sister had just started working there and Marius had somehow managed to talk the feisty girl into taking Enjolras' shift, proving that he was actually good for something besides being eye candy.

About three fourths of Grantaire's shirts were band t-shirts he'd picked up at concerts, and the remaining were a haphazard collection of different styles and clashing colors that he'd bought on a whim. He couldn't really see Enjolras going for the band t-shirts, so he dug around one of the lesser frequented sections of his dresser and finally landed on a rust red shirt with quarter length sleeves. He'd liked the look of the shirt, but not on him as it turned out. It had highlighted how red and splotchy his skin got during acne breakouts, thus its exile to the bottom of the drawer.

“Here, put this on.” He tossed it to Enjolras, who was standing in the doorway with his inscrutable resting bitch face going. Enjolras caught the shirt and gave it a confused look. “Go on. Dude, you're not wearing your work clothes to the party. It's clean, I promise.”

“I'm not doubting its cleanliness. I'm just not sure I understand the point.”

“Just do it as a favor to me then. Please?”

“Fine.”

And then the boy who called Grantaire a pervert for a badly timed glance in his direction, the boy who shut down even the gentlest and most indirect attempts at flirting with the scariest ice glare known in existence, casually stripped off his black polo in one fluid movement, tossed it on the floor, and pulled the red shirt over his head.

Grantaire was sure he was gaping like a fish. But how could one focus on something as trivial as keeping one's mouth closed when there was a quick flash of beautifully sculpted abs that absolutely needed to be memorized? Oh, and those hipbones, and the lovely honey colored happy trail he'd just gotten a glimpse of…

Clearly, Enjolras was trying to kill him.

Calmly, as though he hadn't just tried to give Grantaire a stroke, Enjolras walked across the room and examined his reflection in the mirror. He ran his hand through his hair and rearranged his wavy bangs, finger combing the part so that they swooped down behind his ear. “This is actually very flattering. Thank you, R. I'll wash it with my clothes and return it to you.”

“Keep it.” By some miracle, Grantaire's voice sounded normal when he spoke. He'd been fearing a pubescent sounding crack. “It looks way better on you than it ever did on me. I think I might have worn it once since I got it. Red really suits you.”

“I think you look good in blues and greens,” Enjolras said. “They make your eyes pop. I know my eyes are blue too, but they're more gray than yours. Ugh. My hair is getting long. If I don't get a haircut soon I'm going to have to tie it up at work.”

“Don't let Prouvaire cut it for you. He'll tell you he knows what he's doing but he's lying.”

“Learned from experience, did we?”

Grantaire self-consciously patted his hair as they left the bedroom. “I swear it's still a little uneven and I've had two haircuts from people who know what they're doing since then. You can't tell as much when it's dry and puffing up all crazy like this, but when it's wet it actually lies flat and you can see it.”

Enjolras pulled his sweatshirt on while Grantaire was talking. “You'll have to show me sometime.”

“Do you have anything heavier than that coat? It's supposed to snow.”

“You know I don't. I left home in September. It was sweatshirt weather then.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I've got an extra coat somewhere. Hold on.” His phone buzzed while he spoke. “Combeferre's getting impatient, methinks. If I can't track it down quickly then you can wear my coat. I've got a couple of hoodies with heavy linings that I can double up.”

“Why don't I just take one of those then? Grantaire, I don't want to keep Combeferre waiting.”

“And I don't want you to freeze to death.” Grantaire draped his coat over Enjolras' shoulders. “I like having you around, you know.”

Enjolras dropped his gaze. His face had gone slightly red, and Grantaire noticed how close together they were standing. He backed up a few steps and stammered out an apology. “Fuck, but I'm always intruding on your boundaries, aren't I?”

“It's fine,” Enjolras mumbled. He zipped up the coat and hugged his sides. “This is much warmer. Thank you, R.”

“You're welcome.” Grantaire made sure to grab his bulkiest scarf and best mittens to go with his hoodies, and then the two of them tore out the door and down the stairs.

Combeferre was idling directly in front of Grantaire's building. He had his phone out, likely texting Grantaire again since he hadn't answered the last three, but he put it away when he saw his friends climb into his backseat. “Finally. We still need to get Jehan and Marius.”

“Marius?” Enjolras frowned. “I thought he was living on Courfeyrac's couch now. Shouldn't he already be there?”

“Wait, what?” Grantaire blinked a few times. “When the fuck did that happen?”

“About two days after Marius started working at the Musain,” Enjolras said. “He had a fight with his grandfather and he left home even though he had no place to stay. We met when I was still living at the homeless shelter and I told him to apply at the Musain. I'm regretting it now, of course. He's a terrible coworker. He daydreams too much and he's horrible at making conversation.”

“Which is to say his political opinions are more center leaning than yours,” Combeferre said. “Enjolras...does Marius know that Courfeyrac has a crush on him?”

“Shouldn't he? Courfeyrac's rather obvious about it...oh. But Marius is rather dense sometimes, isn't he? He might not have picked up on it, come to think of it.”

“Courf knows he's straight though.” Grantaire scowled. “Why do our people always do this? He should know better than to get hung up on a cute straight boy at his age. Like, when you're in high school it's forgivable but he should know better by now. If he gets hurt it's his own fault.”

“That's a bit harsh,” Combeferre said. “You can't always help these things. I've found that most crushes are inconvenient.”

“Does that mean you have one?” Enjolras asked, in a tone that was barely inquisitive. He seemed to be perfectly aware of the answer to his question. Grantaire was surprised at the question. Enjolras never joined in on this sort of gossip.

Of course Grantaire immediately decided there must be a personal motive to Enjolras' inquiry. He wouldn't ask Combeferre if he had a crush unless _he_ wanted to be the object of affection, right? Well that was a nerve wracking train of thought.

Combeferre, for his part, answered with a small smirk. “Of course I do. And I promise, it's highly inconvenient, just like all the rest of the pining and sulking in our group. I think Joly and Bossuet are the only ones of us who've lucked into a drama free courtship.”

“I don't think your crush is inconvenient at all. I've been observing the two of you for over a month. You should ask him out.” Was Enjolras referring to himself in the third person?

No, that didn't make sense. Besides that, if Enjolras had a crush on Combeferre he'd have asked him out himself. Probably in a no-nonsense, completely direct and unromantic sort of way. Well, at least Grantaire wasn't having a paranoid day. That was good.

He made an effort to bring himself back into the conversation.

“Yeah, 'Ferre. You're fucking dreamy. Whoever it is, go for it. They won't be able to resist an adorkable nerd like you.”

Combeferre laughed and shook his head. “I honestly think we're both better off as friends. At least...for now. I might reconsider after graduation.”

Enjolras scowled at Combeferre and then angrily waved his hands in his direction. “Are you serious? _That_ is exactly why you're meant for each other. I swear, he'd say the same thing too. You don't want to inconvenience each other with your affections when you have so much studying to do.”

“I'm sorry, but that is alarmingly close to your excuse,” Combeferre said. “Your indignation carries a touch of hypocrisy, Enjolras.”

“My circumstances are entirely different from yours and I think they perfectly explain my reluctance to date. Plus I'm just bad at it.”

Combeferre and Grantaire both snorted derisively and then laughed. “Can we call jinx on that?” Grantaire asked.

“I don't think so.”

“Oh what's with the attitude? You've known me long enough to notice how awkward and blunt I am and how much I suck at handling any emotion softer than indignation. I can barely sustain friendships let alone...you know, couple stuff. The only reason we've all become friends is because you guys didn't give me any choice.”

“We didn't kidnap you, Enjolras.”

“Says the man who argued and guilt tripped me into living on his couch. Also, I didn't actually want to come to this party tonight.”

“That's the spirit!” Grantaire leaned over and slung an arm around Enjolras. “It's nice to hear that you're going into this social outing with a healthy, positive attitude.”

“Just promise me we can leave relatively early. I may not be opening tomorrow but I'd still like to try to catch up on sleep if I can.”

“You're not going to be allowed to leave before midnight,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras slid down in his seat and groaned.

“It's a New Years party, Enjolras!”

His only response was to groan again.

* * *

The party wasn't quite the exuberant adventure Courfeyrac had been hoping for.

When they got there, Grantaire tossed his hoodies and assorted winter wear into Courfeyrac's room on the bed with all the other coats, went into the kitchen to steal some mixers and vodka, and then returned to the living room to plop in front of the TV where the Twilight Zone marathon was playing, as per his request. Feuilly and Bahorel were the first to join him, and by the time his favorite episode, The Masks, was on, the circle of TV watchers had grown to about a dozen.

Courfeyrac stood in front of the TV and put his hands on his hips. “This is completely unacceptable.”

“This is New Years,” Grantaire corrected. “Now get out of the way. We're going to miss the twist ending.”

“By your own admission you've seen this episode at least once a year for your entire life. Plus the ending is obvious,” Enjolras said.

“Obvious but satisfying. I'm serious, Courf. Shoo.”

“Don't shoo me! Come on, R. Come play Never Have I Ever with us. You always come up with the best shit.”

Grantaire glanced at his cup. He was still on his first drink and pacing himself rather well. He'd been trying not to overdo it as much and drinking games were not conducive to that goal in the least, what with his competitive nature. “Sorry, Courf. Enjolras has to suffer the consequences if I get messy, so out of pity for him I think I'm gonna skip the games.”

Enjolras' brow furrowed. “That's not-you don't have to miss out on anything on my behalf.”

Grantaire turned to look at him. “Dude, I can tell you don't like it when I get shit-faced.”

“You can do what you want, which includes abstaining from drinking games if you so desire. I don't need to be your excuse for anything.”

Courfeyrac stepped away from the TV with his hands up. “Whoa, whoa...didn't mean to start a fight. We'll just play Cards Against Humanity.” He left the room, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire to stare at each other in confusion.

“Were we fighting?” Enjolras asked.

“Sounded kinda hostile,” Feuilly said. “But considering how gobsmacked you both look, no, I don't think you were fighting.”

“I ruffled your feathers again though, didn't I?” Grantaire observed with a smirk. “You really hate it when I try to show consideration for you, huh?”

“That's not what...urgh. I'm going to play Cards Against Humanity. By the way, you're missing the twist ending. Their faces are stuck, surprise-surprise.” Enjolras followed after Courfeyrac, and Grantaire calmly took a sip of his drink.

Feuilly moved down on the couch so that he was sitting next to Grantaire. “So that's going well, I take it?”

“What do you mean?”

Feuilly quirked an eyebrow. “Eventually someone's going to hold your heads together and make you kiss. You know, unless you resolve it on your own.”

“You said you weren't going to bother me about my crush.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind. You're both being annoyingly dense about it.”

“Enjolras is being a good friend by not rubbing my face in rejection by directly calling it out. I get to have the occasional false spark of hope, which feels nice for a few minutes before I crush it with reality. And he hasn't humiliated me over my ridiculously one-sided feelings, which is also quite friendly of him. He's...fuck, in every possible way he is far, far better than I could ever deserve.”

Feuilly shook his head. “Sad misreading of the entire situation, R. And I mean it. It's very sad. You two are never going to get anywhere on this if you keep willfully misinterpreting the other. Because you're both being incredibly fucking obvious. You really should have clued each other in by now. What I don't get is Enjolras. He's smarter than this and, well...he doesn't have the self-esteem hang ups you do.”

“Enjolras is confidence and conviction gloriously personified.” Grantaire toasted Feuilly with his plastic cup. “So forgive me for disagreeing with your well-intentioned fluffy read of the situation, but I assure you he is most definitely not interested in me. I'm pretty sure I revolt him about half the time. Sometimes we get along though, and I think he selectively focuses on those times because he's got that optimistic streak where he likes to see the good in humanity, even me.”

“No, R. He's cold to you some of the time because he's trying to protect himself. It's different.”

“I don't need false hope, Feuilly. If you're going to sit there and spout that shit then _I'm_ going to get up and play Cards Against Humanity, and I despise never-ending card games that don't involve booze.”

“Fine, fine. I'll let it go for now. The cornfield episode's starting and it'd be a crime to chase a fellow Twilight Zone fan away from such a classic.”

Grantaire had every intention of sticking to his goal and planned to stop once he'd achieved a pleasant buzz. But people kept asking him to make them drinks, and somehow his own cup kept refilling, and by the time Courfeyrac was handing out the tacky plastic champagne flutes for midnight he was having a hard time keeping his feet under him. The whole party had returned to the living room to do the countdown together, minus Enjolras. Grantaire was in the habit of scanning crowds for him at this point, and he couldn't find that perfect and mesmerizing blond hair anywhere in the room. He got up to investigate, although it took him a few tries get off the couch without over-balancing. He ended up leaving his champagne flute in the living room, since there was no chance of him stumbling around without spilling it.

Courfeyrac's apartment was pretty large for a college student's, but there were only so many places to look. Grantaire found Enjolras in Courfeyrac's bedroom, curled up on the coat pile with a book open in front of him. He'd fallen asleep using his arm as a pillow, with the coat Grantaire had insisted he borrow pulled over him like a blanket.

Grantaire gave his shoulder a nudge. “Enj, wake up. S'almost midnight. You'll miss the countdown.”

“Hm?” Enjolras yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “Oh, the countdown? Can we go now?”

“No, no, the countdown didn't happen yet. C'mon, you'll miss it.”

“Honestly, I'm not too fussed...what happened to staying sober?”

Grantaire couldn't help but smirk at that. “I never said anything that stupidly unrealistic. I meant not to overdo it. Meant to. Think I missed.” He sighed. “I definitely missed. But I'll try not to make a mess in the bathroom or anything. Anyway, s'not like it's your job to hold my hair when I puke up my guts. Fuck, why did I say that? Because I've got no filter when I'm shitfaced, which was the whole fucking point in not getting bombed around you anymore. Urgh...anyway, countdown's in there.” He turned and started for the door, but then Enjolras reached over and touched his arm.

“Grantaire, just sit down on the bed. Let's do the countdown in here. I'm sure we'll hear it. And then when it's over I'll go into the living room with you and we can find Combeferre together.”

“I can walk. I'm not that drunk. Walked in here, didn't I?”

Enjolras took his hand and twined their fingers together. “I don't mind helping you.”

Well really, how could he say no to an invitation like that? His pride wasn't smarting that much, as he wasn't accustomed to feeling all that proud to begin with. Grantaire sat down next to Enjolras, and ended up leaning rather heavily on the wall behind him. Enjolras rested his head on Grantaire's shoulder and kept his grip on Grantaire's hand.

His skin was tingling in the most delightful way. And he could smell Enjolras' hair, which smelled like coffee and Grantaire's own brand of shampoo but it was still a good smell.

The countdown was indeed loud and clear, what with all the tipsy college students screaming along with the television. When it finished, Enjolras gave Grantaire's hand a squeeze. “Happy New Year, Grantaire.”

“Happy New Year,” he answered. “You make any resolutions?”

“Just to get my life back in order, but that was a goal with or without New Year's. What about you?”

“Hm...hadn't thought about it. I suppose to not fail out of school. Maybe cut back on the drinking.”

“That'd be nice. You...it's probably not my place to say anything, but you don't seem very happy when you're drinking.”

He shrugged. “It's a coping mechanism. A shitty coping mechanism, to be sure, but it's all I really picked up to work with my damage so far. Um...we should probably find 'Ferre and get that ride so you can go home and sleep. You still look really tired.”

“Mm. You should probably drink some water before you go to bed.” Enjolras finally let go of his hand, but then he took Grantaire by the elbow and helped him to his feet. Grantaire stubbornly tried to walk on his own but the wall kept getting in his way, and Enjolras was admittedly useful in guiding him into the living room.

It took them a few minutes to find their ride and when they did they were reluctant to interrupt him. Combeferre was in the pantry, of all places, sharing his champagne with a giddy looking Prouvaire, and as they were both wearing the smudged remnants of Prouvaire's lime green lipstick, Enjolras made the executive decision to leave them be.

“I'll just nap on the coat pile until he's ready to leave,” Enjolras said, once more taking Grantaire by the arm and guiding him towards Courfeyrac's room. “I knew that was building up to something. I wonder if my prodding in the car helped.”

“I had no fucking idea they were into each other,” Grantaire said. “How'd you figure it out?”

“Well, Jehan told me he liked 'Ferre.”

“That's fucking...why didn't he tell me?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I was a bit surprised he confided in me, honestly. Anyway, once he told me about his crush I started paying more attention to Combeferre. It didn't take me long to realize it was reciprocated. I think they'll be good together, don't you?”

Grantaire paused, both in his walking and his train of thought so that he could consider. “Yeah...” he said, speech as slow and fuzzy as his thoughts. “They're already best fucking friends and no one gets Jehan like 'Ferre does. They're gonna be fucking soul mates. Hm. First Joly and Bossuet and now this. Love is in the air, huh?”

“I guess.” Enjolras' face had gone inscrutable, almost like his customer service mask. He looked unhappy, badly concealed behind a polite facade. Grantaire gently pressed his fingertips to Enjolras' cheek. “R, what on earth are you doing?”

“I...dunno.” Grantaire lowered his hand. “I honestly have no fucking clue. But you should smile a real smile. We're at a party with our friends and we're happy, okay?”

“Okay.” Enjolras pressed his lips together, and they were slightly quirked in a patronizing sort of amusement, which wasn't ideal but it was far preferable to the customer service mask. “I'm very happy to be at this party with you. Now please let's just nap together until our ride is ready to leave.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

The night got away from Grantaire sometime after he and Enjolras landed back in the coat pile. When he woke in the early afternoon, tucked into his own bed once more with the kind of care he never showed himself, the curtains drawn to shield his hangover from the glaring afternoon sun, he only had suggestions of memories. Enjolras' silken hair tickling at his chin, Enjolras' concerned face hovering over his, saying something about them getting to the car, and a hushed argument between Combeferre and Enjolras that was thematically linked to the one Grantaire had had with Feuilly.

He couldn't remember much of what was said, but he was pretty sure Combeferre was trying to prod Enjolras towards asking him out. Much as he appreciated the fact that his friends all wanted the best for him, he was starting to resent the fact that they were trying to guilt trip Enjolras into having feelings he clearly didn't have. He shouldn't be pressured into going out with Grantaire just because he had the misfortune of being the person Grantaire was hung up on. Similarly, Grantaire should have been allowed to wallow in the pain of unrequited love without having it constantly pointed out.

His mouth once more tasted like dry gym socks but this time there was a hint of vomit. Grantaire groaned, and remembered stumbling to the bathroom in the early hours of the morning. Enjolras had actually held his hair for him.

“My friends are morons,” Grantaire mumbled. Puking one's guts out was not a good pick-up strategy.

He had no shot with Enjolras, whatsoever. His horrible behavior guaranteed that, and if he didn't work on it he might not even be able to claim Enjolras as a friend. They were in close enough proximity that he had a very realistic chance of scaring Enjolras away for good. He had to stop being such a mess.

He managed to make it into the bathroom for a shower without bumping into Enjolras, and once he was feeling more human (though still with a lingering headache) he went into the kitchen to make coffee.

The kitchen already smelled heavenly. There was coffee in the pot and it wasn't his shitty store brand stuff. There was a note from Enjolras on the table. 

 

_Morning R (or afternoon, most likely)_

_Thanks for dragging me out last night. Despite appearances, I had a lot of fun. I picked up a shift for Azelma so I'm going to be gone for most of the day. Actually, you won't be seeing me much at all for the next couple of weeks. I'll pretty much just be around to sleep. I made you some coffee – dark roast from the Musain._

_Please stop in and say hi. I'm working fourteen hours today. Friendly faces help._

_-E_

 

“Oh good. He's avoiding me now.” Grantaire poured himself a mug of coffee, sat down at the table and reread the note another five or six times. He got distracted the third read-through, admiring the neat, artistic curves in Enjolras' letters. You didn't see penmanship like that very often in guys their age. But the pretty letters only distracted him from their meaning for so long.

Enjolras didn't want to see him. Grantaire had whined him into going out when he didn't want to. He'd been exhausted from work and wanted to stay home and sleep, and then Grantaire had compounded the sin by getting too shitfaced to function. But Enjolras was trying to be nice about it, since he obviously felt obligated to be in favor with the guy who was letting him sleep on his couch. Picking up extra shifts was an incredibly diplomatic solution to seeing as little of a nuisance like Grantaire as possible without suspicion.

Even the mild caffeine rush of the coffee couldn't help Grantaire out of his funk. He ended up in his room binge watching Netflix, in that the television was on and he was facing its general direction. He couldn't muster energy for much else, and completely ignored its phone when it started chiming with texts in the evening.

He was still in his room at midnight when Enjolras got home. He heard Enjolras' progress throughout the apartment on the creaking floorboards, first depositing his things on the coat rack (he was still wearing Grantaire's coat – Grantaire made a mental note to actually locate his spare), then dropping his bag by the couch in the living room. Then the creaking floorboards sounded along the hallway and stopped outside Grantaire's bedroom door. He waited for the knock, but nothing happened. Enjolras hovered there for a few minutes, then turned around and went back to the living room.

Grantaire didn't manage to sleep much at all, and when he dragged himself out of bed the following afternoon, feeling lethargic and cranky, the kitchen was bereft of heavenly smells and there was no beautifully scrawled note for him to misinterpret on the table. He drank his shitty store brand coffee and tried to think of something to do to waste another day.

* * *

The depressive funk lingered over the rest of the week. The weather happened to match Grantaire's mood; gray, vaguely unpleasant, never progressing to the point of being a full fledged snowstorm but never clearing up for a warm sunny day either. Grantaire remained at home with the television on, sketching a little when he felt up to it and avoiding Enjolras for the hour or two a day they were both home and awake.

The evening before the first day of the new semester he was feeling marginally better and decided to meet up with his friends at the Musain. He regretted it almost as soon as he walked through the door.

His eyes landed on Enjolras first thing, because his brain continued to hate him. It was the first time Grantaire had gotten a good look at Enjolras since the New Years party and he almost did a double take. Enjolras' hair was pulled back in a sad little ponytail that was almost escaping the elastic. He looked thinner and more rundown that ever, and his eyes widened when they locked with Grantaire's. For a moment they stood there, frozen, then Enjolras snatched up the milk pitchers he'd been heading for and darted behind the counter.

Grantaire gave himself a little shake, then continued on into the back room. Again, he almost left.

Joly was sitting in Bossuet's fucking lap. Combeferre and Prouvaire were reading, which was perfectly normal, but they were _sharing_ a large, unpleasant looking book, which was decidedly not, and Combeferre had his arm wrapped around Prouvaire, who was wearing one of Combeferre's cardigans.

Grantaire was so not in the mood to be around happy couples.

He sat down next to Feuilly, which might have been a bad choice since the guy had a tendency to prod him about his unrequited love. Fortunately, Feuilly's eyes were glued to his phone screen. Unfortunately, Grantaire was able to make out his sister's name at the top of the screen. “You're still talking to Rose? I thought you guys were just hooking up.”

Feuilly shrugged. “That's how it started out but...I dunno. We kept in touch.” He glanced up from his phone. “Is that weird? I'm sorry if it's weird.”

“Um...do you like her?” Grantaire wasn't sure he wanted the answer, although it had more to do with bitterness and a certain amount of jealousy than the ickiness of one of his friends liking his sister. Ickiness was still a factor, of course, but at the moment he was mostly concerned with avoiding schmoopy couples.

Feuilly's vapid looking smile wasn't encouraging. “She's incredibly clever and funny and I think she likes animation as much as I do. We're going to hang out and watch some Ub Iwerks shorts on Saturday.”

Grantaire diplomatically refrained from telling Feuilly that he was the animation nerd and that Rose only knew who Ub Iwerks was because of him. He couldn't decide if it creeped him out that Rose was using his interests to flirt with one of his friends or if he found it funny.

Both. Definitely both.

Grantaire navigated himself out of that conversation and was about to head up to the counter to get his drink when Courfeyrac plopped down in the chair next to him and dramatically banged his head against the table.

“Fucking straight boys.”

Grantaire rubbed a circle on his back. “Courf, fucking straight boys is a terrible idea. Unless it turns out they're not actually straight.”

“Don't be an asshole.”

“Can't help it. It's my default.”

Courfeyrac sat up and jutted out his lower lip. It was awkwardly adorable. “Marius works out.”

“Well yeah, I'd kinda figured. Have you seen the arms on that kid?” The nondescript black Musain polo called attention to some damn biceps. Marius wasn't really Grantaire's type, but he'd noticed the kid was a looker.

“Oh, I've definitely noticed the arms. And the abs. He works out shirtless, R. He was doing push ups in the living room when I left. Shirtless push ups. And he sleeps in his underpants and nothing else. I think he's trying to kill me with pent up sexual frustration.”

“I think you're an idiot for letting a beautifully dim straight boy with nudist tendencies sleep on your couch. You got yourself into this mess, Courf. You knew Marius was straight.”

“Just sulk with me, okay? You've got the unrequited thing going on too. I didn't sit next to you to be judged. Let's commiserate like friends.” Courfeyrac slumped down in his seat. “Marius is so fucking pretty. I think he's the only person I've ever seen with better hair than Enjolras.”

Grantaire let out a squawk of indignation. “Excuse me, you did not just say what I think you said, right?”

“Um...Marius' hair is nothing short of magnificent.”

“It's brown, Courf.”

“And shiny, and thick, and perfect.”

“It's the same color as ours. It is absolutely nothing special. Now, Enjolras' hair-”

Courfeyrac scowled. “I have heard you wax eloquent about Enjolras' hair enough for one lifetime. I will grant you that Enjolras has the better ass, but Marius has yummier abs and I am dead convinced that his hair might be better. Also, by virtue of the fact that he's never killed anyone with a harsh look I'd argue for dreamier eyes.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You really need to get over this crush, Courf. It's not healthy. It's making you delusional. Marius is certainly an attractive puppy, I'll give you that, but he's...he's so _conventional_. Those are the kind of good looks you can find plastered to the wall of a vapid teenage girl's bedroom. Enjolras is special. His beauty is more classical, more timeless, and less...” he waved his hand, struggling to find the word. “Poppy, I guess. I could never see Enjolras fronting a boy band, is what I'm saying.”

“I seem to have come into this conversation at an interesting point. For once I actually agree with you.” Enjolras placed a mug of dark roast coffee in front of Grantaire, nearly giving him a heart attack, and followed it up with a chocolate chip cookie. Feuilly moved down the table a chair, the bastard, allowing Enjolras to sit down next to Grantaire. “May I ask why Courfeyrac was suggesting I front a boy band?”

“I wasn't,” Courfeyrac yelped. “I was just saying that Marius might have better hair than you, and the conversation sort of progressed.”

Enjolras' expression iced over. “Oh, you were discussing my looks again.”

“Courf was talking about Marius,” Grantaire said, trying not to sound too defensive and failing horrendously. “I was just defending your hair's honor.”

“I don't think there's much honor for it to claim at the moment.” Enjolras took out the elastic and shook out the sad ponytail. “I really need to get it cut. Nick insisted I pull it back, or I'm going to have to start wearing a hairnet. But it's still not really long enough for the ponytail either. I don't want to wear a hairnet. Prouvaire did offer to cut it...”

“Don't do it,” Grantaire and Courfeyrac both said at the same time. Courfeyrac patted his own hair reflexively, a haunted look on his face.

“Enjolras, I will pay to have it cut by a professional if you really want it done that badly. Just don't let Jehan anywhere near you with scissors,” Grantaire said. “Promise me, please.”

“I'll give you a ride to any stylist you want,” Courfeyrac added.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You're both being dramatic.”

“You could just keep growing it out,” Grantaire said. He took a deep breath, knowing that he was risking Enjolras' wrath if he kept going. “I think...I think it looks good long. The awkward ponytail phase won't last that long, you know? You'll have a real ponytail soon.”

Enjolras ran his hand through his hair absently, expression thoughtful. “It's certainly the attractive financial option. I'll think about it some more. So I heard the semester starts tomorrow. Does that mean I'll be seeing you at work more often? You come here to study, right?”

“Yeah, how come you haven't been around?” Courfeyrac asked.

Grantaire shrugged and started picking at the cookie. “Haven't really felt like leaving. The weather's been shitty and I didn't want to go out in it. Since I didn't have to...”

“That's...not much of a reason, R. I was getting worried about you.” Enjolras started retying his ponytail as he spoke, which conveniently kept him from making eye contact with anyone. “I've been staying at your apartment and you typically hang out at my work. It felt weird, not seeing you.”

“He just disappears like that sometimes, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said. “I told you not to worry about it. It's an artist thing. Were you doing a bunch of painting, R?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire lied. He had done some sketching. That sort of counted. Sort of.

“Oh. Well anyway, I missed you. I'm glad you're back.” Enjolras broke off a piece of the cookie for himself. Grantaire made an injured noise and he smirked. “Hey, the cookie was comped to me. You can share.”

“I'd rather buy my own and let you eat the cookie yourself.”

“I got the chocolate chip for you. It's your favorite, isn't it? Courfeyrac, are you okay?”

He'd been making a fake gagging noise. “Fine. It's you guys that are being gross, along with everyone else at this fucking table. Where's Bahorel? He's single and bitter too, isn't he?”

“Actually he's out with a girl right now,” Feuilly said.

“Son of a...”

“Doesn't matter anyway, Courf. I promise, I am plenty single and plenty bitter and also disgusted with the general state of our table,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras snagged another piece of the cookie and shook his head. “The new couple euphoria will wear off eventually. You could try being happy for all your friends.”

Courfeyrac and Grantaire traded a look and then both burst out laughing. Enjolras made an exasperated noise and continued snacking on the cookie.

Grantaire ended up hanging around the cafe until close enough to closing that it seemed pointless not to wait for Enjolras. He watched all their friends trickle out, Prouvaire and Combeferre holding hands when they left together, Joly and Bossuet trading an extended goodbye culminating in a quick goodnight kiss before they left separately. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if that were him and Enjolras. Two couples had formed in the group in one week. Was it really that far outside the realm of possibility for a third to happen as well?

Enjolras walked into the room as he was having that thought and started putting chairs on top of the tables. He paused for a moment to smile at Grantaire with his perfect, even teeth that were magically still somehow pearly white despite the amount of coffee he drank. He didn't even use a special toothpaste. It was witchcraft, for his teeth not to be stained.

Grantaire decided that yes, a third couple forming in their group was completely outside the realm of possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! It's the most hectic part of my year right now. I have some draft already written so I'm hoping for a few more updates in relatively quick succession despite the upcoming lack of free time. Things are about to get interesting! (and dramatic, and angsty, and triggery...)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! We're now at the section of the story that I wrote months and months ago, and have had to write other chapters to bridge it to the beginning. This stuff flowed effortlessly and I'm excited to finally get some other peoples' eyes on it, so let me know what you think (also, the preceding chapters really dragged out the slow-burn so sorry if Enjolras and Grantaire's mutual pining has become an annoyance...if I'd wrote this in order it probably wouldn't have dragged out across this many chapters). And I wanted to throw out a warning. As Enjolras starts to open up and share his back story things are going to get a little dark. I'm processing some of my own shit in therapy right now and one of the big themes I'm working on is safety, and feeling let down by people who were supposed to protect you. I've been yelled at before about being more traumatic than my audience can handle and am trying to avoid that happening again.

Three weeks into the semester Grantaire started to fall apart. Which was just frustrating, because normally school _helped_.

Well, college helped. High school had been a dysfunctional mess that he was burying far into the back of his psyche, but college was just the right mix of independence and routine for his specific cocktail of mental disorders. His classes got him out of bed, he got enough positive feedback from his professors for class participation and papers to feel decent about himself, and he was literally miles away from the family judgment that would take those victories from him. Grantaire was actually pretty good at being a student, and that feeling of accomplishment kept him from sinking too far into his own head and his demons.

But this semester wasn't working. Art history had thrown him, completely. He couldn't seem to pass a single quiz. Normally he just had to do his readings and pay a bit of attention to his lectures and he could pass anything. After failing his first two quizzes he got desperate enough to attempt studying but he wasn't used to it and didn't really know how. He'd gotten dependent on the way his brain usually effortlessly soaked up information and wasn't sure what to do when it refused to stay there on its own. The class covered too much material at once. He couldn't memorize an entire textbook and recall each and every subtle little detail.

And the quizzes! Who put essay questions on fucking reading comprehension quizzes? Those were usually multiple choice. He shuddered to think what an exam might look like.

In a desperate effort to pull up his grades, Grantaire skipped out on going to the Musain and went to the university library instead. He found Combeferre sitting at a table by the biology section and wordlessly sat down across from him. He was unpacking his bag when Combeferre set his book down and folded his hands in front of him, a skeptical look on his face.

“You're here to study, right?”

Grantaire held up his notebook. “I'm not here for the ambiance. Although I gotta admit, this building is a bit nicer than I remember from orientation.”

Combeferre shook his head. “You can stay, but if you get disruptive I'm going to ask you to leave.”

“You don't own the library, 'Ferre.”

Combeferre gave him what could only be described as a warning look, and Grantaire dutifully turned his attention to his lecture notes.

A week of studying with Combeferre in the library produced an almost unnoticeable improvement; he scored a 65 instead of a 40.

“I'm fucked,” Grantaire mumbled, staring at the miserable grades his professor had posted on the class website. He'd failed the majority of their comprehension quizzes and they were almost to midterms. Eventually, he'd run out of semester and it would become mathematically impossible to pull his grade up enough to pass. The reading comprehension quizzes on their own weren't a big deal, but the fact that he wasn't passing anything had him worried.

His parents were footing the majority of his bills but he did actually have some scholarships he'd earned on his own. The scholarships were dependent on him keeping a decent GPA. If he failed a class, he'd lose the scholarships and his dad probably wouldn't be too keen on making up the difference.

Grantaire couldn't fail out of school. If he failed, his father would stop paying for anything and then all that student debt Grantaire had accumulated would just sit there. He'd been worried enough about what he was going to do when he graduated, but that had been assuming he'd at least start with a blank slate. He didn't want to start off in debt.

Grantaire's drinking saw a dramatic increase the week before midterms, which was also when he started missing his early classes and showing up to art history visibly hungover. It didn't endear him to his professor, who'd already called him out a few times on not taking the class seriously enough. Some people thought it was enough to just paint and practice. They didn't value their craft the way they should, or appreciate what came before, and it always came through in their technique. They could copy but never _understand_. Their work might be pleasing in a surface sort of way, but would always be devoid of any real meaning.

He was contemplating a multimedia project for his portfolio that involved a veiled caricature of his art history professor and lots of goopy, thickly coated cadmium red. He'd destroy a few paint brushes misusing his oils like that, but oh would it be worth it.

His temporary roommate was obviously concerned about Grantaire's spiraling mental health, but as was his habit, at a complete loss on how to address it. Enjolras was still cleaning the apartment, but rather than putting the rinsed out bottles and cans in the recycling bin like he usually did, he left them on the kitchen counter so that Grantaire could see the damage he was doing to his liver. It was a good attempt at passive aggression, but not terribly effective. When Enjolras wasn't around, Grantaire _nested_ in his bad habits. His depression carried enough lethargy to keep him from cleaning, so he was used to having the bottles and cans surrounding his bed and couch until he recovered enough to be able to clean.

Then Enjolras left a pamphlet about substance abuse on the kitchen table. Grantaire looked through it while sipping a spiked coffee in the morning, and went down the list of worrying behaviors. “Do you try to avoid family or close friends while drinking...hells yes. Do you drink heavily when you are disappointed, under pressure, or have had a quarrel with someone? Absolutely fucking yes. Can you handle more alcohol then when you first started to drink?” He cast a glance at the army of empty whiskey, rum, vodka, brandy, and wine bottles on his counter and their infantry of beer cans. “Indeed. That might have killed me when I was a little tween.” He kept going down the list, cheerfully answering the questions, and then dropped the pamphlet in the recycling bin.

He couldn't help but shake his head. It's not like he was in denial about his coping mechanisms. He knew they sucked, but drinking and hiding from people was pretty much all he had. Well, that and art, but he was studying so much this semester that he didn't really have time to create. Which was a shame because he had some great ideas for that multimedia painting that was going to kill his brushes. He was thinking of sticking in some of the hair he'd inevitably rip out of his own head in frustration.

Midterms came and went while Grantaire's head was in a foggy place. He seemed to have reached his capacity for dealing with stress for a couple of days there. The numbness was a nice change of pace. He went through the motions in his classes, sat his exams, turned in a few papers, and then went home and drank until he blacked out. But then the numbness left and all the nerves came back just in time for him to get his grades.

He got Bs on all his midterms except Art History, which he'd failed more spectacularly than the comprehension quizzes. Grantaire stared at his laptop in disbelief. It didn't help that he honestly couldn't remember sitting the exam. What had he written? How was it even possible to get a grade that low without missing the test entirely?

He felt like he was going to throw up. First he wrote an email to his professor, begging her to meet with him during her office hours to talk about his grades. Then he shut down his computer with a shaking hand, went into the bathroom, and sat in front of the toilet for a half hour. Despite some panicked breathing and a fair amount of gagging his stomach remained calm, so he went into the kitchen and poured himself a shot, which was rather optimistic of him and a waste of a glass. The whiskey bottle was likely going to join its brothers on the kitchen counter by morning.

“I need to call home,” Grantaire informed his empty kitchen. “Also, I need to get a cat so when I talk to myself I sound slightly less crazy.” He started pacing around the kitchen table, trying to steel himself up for the confrontation. “Maybe Mom will answer. Mom bailed me out a few times when I was in over my head in high school. She's compassionate sometimes. And if she's having one of those moods, she might not tell Dad I fucked up.”

He took a few deep breaths, then called his home.

He did not get his mother.

It did not go well.

* * *

Grantaire was very drunk by the time Enjolras got home from work, though he hoped to pass himself off as cheerfully drunk instead. He felt like the wreck Enjolras always seemed to think him, and was hoping not to further confirm his crush in that belief. The fact that he _agreed_ with Enjolras regarding his status as a wreck of a man wasn't important. Sometimes, when Enjolras was around he felt the stirrings to be a better person than he was, and he'd have liked that to come through if it all possible.

He should have dragged himself into his room and hid, but the lethargy had stopped him in the living room. Damn lethargy.

“R, are you still up?” Enjolras' voice sounded from the entryway. He sounded different, somehow. Grantaire was well practiced in the few and subtle variations of Enjolras' tone. He generally stuck to cold indifference, sometimes switching it up to anger or annoyance. There was something hesitant and possibly vulnerable in him tonight, which was a new flavor of Enjolras-voice.

Fuck, but he was too drunk for this. He really should have gone into his room and pretended to be asleep.

“In here, Enj. How was work?”

“Long.” There was the sound of movement, shoes being kicked off and layers being removed, and then Enjolras was lurching into the living room. He was soaked through, clumps of wet snow still sticking to his hair. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than the last time Grantaire had seen him, although that could have just been a lighting difference. The Musain had soft and ambient lighting wher Grantaire preferred bright lamps for his artwork. Either way, Enjolras looked ready to collapse.

Grantaire was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, his phone in his lap and a mostly empty bottle of Jameson in easy reach. Enjolras took one look at him and let out a resigned sigh. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, at this hour.”

Grantaire was tempted to tell him about his horrible day, the fact that he was failing a class and he couldn't charm his professor into changing her mind about it, the fight with his father, anything that might lessen the look of disappointment on Enjolras' face. He was weak, so he drank. He'd thought Enjolras had gotten that by now, or that he at least had gotten better used to Enjolras' disgust. After all, they were living together. Hiding it or pretending it wasn't there wasn't really an option anymore.

“M'sorry.” Grantaire frowned, dropping his head to his knees. “You look like you need a friend right now. I'm still willing to try, even though I tend to piss you off this far into a drunk-and-wallow night.”

“I almost feel like I need one of those. I've never drank and wallowed before.” Enjolras sighed again and shook his head. “It's not your fault. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have a roof over my head tonight, so really the last thing I should do is complain.”

“Wouldn't you go to the shelter?”

“With weather like this? They were probably full before my shift started.”

“Oh. Wh-where did you go when it filled up before?”

“Usually Feuilly's.”

“And when you couldn't crash with Feuilly?” Grantaire wasn't quite sure why he wanted the answer. It didn't matter anymore. Enjolras had his couch as long as he needed it, to hell with what his parents thought (why oh why had he let slip that he needed financial safety for someone's sake besides his own?!)

“A park bench,” Enjolras answered bluntly. Grantaire felt like he'd been slapped. “Don't give me that look, R. I only actually resorted to the park bench twice.”

Grantaire hated how small and scratchy his voice sounded. “I wish you'd have come here instead. You should never have had to stay on a park bench. That's just...you couldn't have felt safe. How do you sleep like that?”

“Not restfully, certainly. I'm pretty wiped now. I think I'm going to take a shower to warm up. Um. Do you need anything from the bathroom first?”

“Nah, go for it. I'll still be here in my pathetic puddle of self-pity when you're done.” He toasted Enjolras with the Jameson and then downed the rest of it.

Enjolras was only about ten minutes in the shower. He was toweling off his hair when he returned, wearing an old pair of Grantaire's sweatpants and a faded band shirt. The borrowed clothes hung loose off his smaller frame. They likely would have even if he'd made it back to his proper weight. Still though, he looked better for the shower. There was a healthy flush to his skin from the steam and he wasn't shivering anymore.

“R, did something...um. I don't want to pry, but you don't seem very, very happy right now.”

Grantaire smirked at him. “Very astute of you. Nah, this is one of those drink to forget nights, not a drink because it's what you do ones. There's a noticeable difference. I usually ashew...eshew...avoid people when I'm feeling all...” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “Douchey. I guess. I'm not much fun like this.”

“I'm sorry. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, once the hangover's done I should be right as rain. God, that's a weird expression. Am I getting it right? Anyway, it's just a mood. It sucks now but it always passes. What about you? You're fucking miserable tonight too.”

“It's mostly exhaustion. I think I just need a good night of sleep.”

“Oh, well that's fixed easily enough.” Grantaire struggled to his feet. It took him a second. He really was very drunk, and his body wasn't cooperating with his wishes. Enjolras watched him in bemusement, either too tired or too confused to really respond to him. Then Grantaire lurched towards him and started jabbing Enjolras in the chest.

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Directing you. Go that way. Back.” He tapped Enjolras' chest again.

“Okay...so I missed the mopey drunk stage, huh? Because you appear to have turned into a toddler.”

“Please, like anyone can out-mope a toddler. Seriously though, go that way.” He pushed a little harder and Enjolras backed up a few paces. “Good, now turn around. Down the hall and into bed. You're exhausted because you're working too much and you're sleeping on a couch that's too small for you. You're too...too tall and stuff. Sides, the couch is shit. You're taking the bed tonight.”

“We've been over this, Grantaire. I'm not taking your bed.”

“Yes you are. You're tired and sad so you need to sleep and be better. My bed's nice and big. You can stretch out and be comfy. Keep walking, Enjolras. You're almost there.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. “I'll be fine on the couch. I've _been_ fine on it. You have a very nice couch, and besides that I think you need a good night's sleep too.”

“Do you know how much whiskey I've had? I could sleep soundly on the bathroom floor, which come to think of it might save me some trouble later. That's not a bad idea.”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras grabbed his arm, as he'd started in that direction once the thought occurred to him.

“What?”

“You're not sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

“But what if I need to throw up? I'm pretty sure I'll need to. Maybe not soon though. I don't feel sick yet. Hey, your hand is still really cold. I thought the shower would have warmed you up.”

Enjolras frowned. “It did, but I have poor circulation.” He abruptly pulled his hand away from Grantaire and crossed his arms. “Just go to bed.”

“I was trying to. You stopped me.”

“I'm not letting you sleep on the bathroom floor. It's a terrible idea, R.”

“No, it's a great idea. You just don't know because you don't get drunk like I do. Seriously, even if I don't make it to the toilet it'll be way easier to clean the puke off the tiles than a carpet. S'best idea I've ever had, I think. Besides, you're sad. You need a bed. I want you to have my bed, Enjolras. Please? Just say yes. You can snuggle all warm in a blanket burrito and maybe it'll, like, retroactively make up for the park benches. Because that's fucking bullshit. You're the last guy ever who should have to sleep on a fucking park bench with fucking creepers and shit. I know some of the guys who sleep in the park and at the beach and shit. Just, just no.”

It almost looked like Grantaire's rambling was causing Enjolras physical pain. He looked sadder and sadder the longer Grantaire talked, and by the end he was wincing.

“Fine, I'll take the fucking bed but you're still not sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

“But the living room's so far away. I'll definitely puke.”

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's wrist and yanked him down the hall. Grantaire was proud of himself for staying upright. He tried to keep pace with Enjolras, but he kept bumping into the wall and it slowed him down some. He was very relieved when he was dumped onto his bed.

He felt a little dizzy, so he remained in a heap at the foot of the bed and closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop.

“R, you can't sleep like that.”

“I'm not asleep. I'm getting my bearings. Hold on.” Grantaire sat up and looked at Enjolras in some confusion. “There's only one bed.”

“There is. Take your jeans off. Those won't be comfortable to sleep in. Hold on, I think I saw another clean pair of pajamas in the dresser, but one of us really needs to do laundry soon.”

“Enjolras, you're sleeping in the bed. I need to go to the couch. Oh, I could get a bucket. Then I won't throw up on the carpet.”

Grantaire was silenced as he took a pair of plaid pajama pants to the side of the head.

“Put those on. I'll get you a glass of water. Joly says you're supposed to drink water before you go to bed when you've been drinking. It helps with the hangover.”

“Enjolras-”

“Your bed is gigantic, R. We'll just share it.”

Grantaire blinked at him in confusion, trying to puzzle that out. “You don't like it when I look at you sometimes. You said I'm a pervert and, like, lecherous.”

“God, Grantaire, I'm not talking about sleeping together, just, like...sleeping. In the same bed. It's a big bed. We probably won't even touch.”

“So you promise not to get mad at me? Because you get mad at me for nothing a lot and this just seems like it has to be one of those times, but you're the one who suggested it. God, my head hurts. I am so fucking wasted and confused.”

“Just put your pajamas on. I'll be right back with the water.” Enjolras left the room in a comfortingly familiar huff, leaving Grantaire with the problem of struggling out of his skinny jeans and into pajama pants while his functionality was significantly impaired. By the time Enjolras returned he was on the floor, rubbing at what was sure to be a spectacular bruise on his thigh, his jeans around his ankles and the pajama pants still on the bed.

Enjolras set the glass of water on Grantaire's dresser, knelt next to him and yanked the jeans off of him. Grantaire let out a yelp as he was tugged forward. “Hey, rug burn, rug burn!”

“Sorry. I, um. I'm trying to be helpful. I'm not a very gentle person.”

“Bit of an understatement. S'okay though.” Grantaire winced. “Your memory's really good too. Any chance you could do me a favor and forget like all of this?”

Enjolras smirked. It was the closest thing Grantaire had seen to a real smile on him in ages. “Don't worry about it too much, Grantaire. At least you're not a belligerent drunk.”

“Nah, that's never been me. I'm definitely the whiny and morose kind.”

“Maybe privately. In public you're a ranting wannabe philosopher. Which is annoying as fuck sometimes, but it's not...it's a far cry from being belligerent.” Enjolras handed him the pajama pants. “Can you do this part by yourself?”

“Yeah, I think I got this. It was just...you know, skinny jeans.”

“Mm. Those can be hard to navigate when you're sober.”

“Now you're just trying to make me feel better. Which come to think of it, isn't really like you. Oh god, I've made more of an ass of myself than I realized. The golden god is _pitying_ me.”

It might have been his imagination, but it looked like Enjolras was blushing. “Just put on your pajamas, R. I'm tired. I want to go to bed.”

“Working on it. Just a bit tangled because they're backwards. Wait, there we go.” He finally managed to slide the pajamas up over his boxers, fell back onto his ass again, and then climbed up to his feet. “Ta da. Ready for bed. Can you imagine if I'd had to take my boots off too? We'd have been here all night.”

“You're not quite ready yet. Here.” Enjolras handed him the glass of water. “It really will help with the hangover. Joly and Feuilly always drink water when they have alcohol. I've seen it.”

Grantaire couldn't help but smile at Enjolras' stubborn enthusiasm for the water. If he had to guess, he'd say this was the only thing Enjolras had ever picked up about drinking. But he dutifully drank at least two thirds of the water before handing the glass back. “I think that's enough for me. Don't want to wet the bed.”

Enjolras' expression at that was priceless. “Is that a possibility?”

“Nah. Not with me, anyway. I don't let it get that far. Besides, I'm more of a puker. Bahorel pees. Not that he'll admit it. Um...you sure you're really okay with this?”

“Of course. You won't let me sleep on the couch and I won't let you sleep on the floor, so this is the only solution left.”

“Kay. I'll try not to touch you. I'm a restless sleeper though, so I might get you a few times by accident.” Grantaire turned away from Enjolras and his weirdly sad stare and climbed into bed. He took the far side facing the wall and curled in on himself, trying to take up as little space as possible.

It worked. As far as he could tell, there was a good six inches at least between him and Enjolras, once the other boy settled into bed. Enjolras didn't look as tense as Grantaire, though he was turned so that he was facing the room, his back to Grantaire. “Good night, R.”

“Night, Enjolras. Sleep well.”

* * *

Restless sleeper was a bit of an understatement. On the odd occasion Grantaire went to bed sober (well, sober-ish – at this point he needed _something_ in his system to have any hope of falling asleep) he woke up several times throughout the night, shivering and with a sore neck because he'd kicked all his blankets off and wandered across the bed and away from all pillows. Sometimes he drank enough that he just konked out and didn't move, but more often than not he simply didn't wake up and fix his bedding.

He should have been in agony when he woke up, but it actually wasn't too bad. His headache was manageable, he wasn't nauseated at all, and he was still wrapped in warm blankets. That was probably how functional people who didn't suffer from alcoholism, depression, and insomnia felt on mornings that they didn't have an early class and could sleep in.

He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the unusual coziness and intent on falling right back asleep. Then he felt it again, the thing that had woken him up. It was something soft and slightly cool ghosting down the side of his face, just along his cheek. It was oddly like a caress, but he couldn't imagine where the gentle touch had come from.

Then Enjolras spoke, and it took every bit of willpower he possessed to keep his eyes closed. Clearly, Enjolras thought he was still asleep.

“You know, I never quite know what to make of you, Grantaire. You drive me mad sometimes, but you're also possibly the most effortlessly kind person I've ever met. Seriously, completely effortlessly because you had almost no control over yourself with how pickled your brains were last night, and yet...all you wanted was to take care of me. You were infuriating and stubborn, but actually rather sweet. I thought I'd been handling things pretty well, all things considered. I know I could do it on my own if I needed to, but there is a niceness in not needing to. Thank you for looking out for me. And I'm sorry I can't seem to figure out how to be nice to you when you're awake.” That hesitant little touch returned, and then the mattress dipped and a moment later Grantaire heard the door shut.

He opened his eyes and, once he confirmed he was alone in his room he wonderingly touched his cheek. His memories of the previous night were a bit garbled, but he had the gist of it. He remembered fighting with Enjolras over the bed, and that look on his face that was almost a smile. He would have been horribly embarrassed about being so drunk in front of Enjolras that he couldn't even put on pajamas by himself, except…

Enjolras had touched his cheek. He must have tucked him in, because there was no way in hell he'd still be in a blanket burrito without help. And he'd called him kind. And sweet.

This was going down in history as the best way Grantaire had ever woken up. But since it was incredibly cozy he dropped back off to sleep again.

* * *

The notion that Enjolras did not, in fact, hate Grantaire was an odd one, and something he struggled with in the days following. There was no obvious change in Enjolras' behavior. He was still short tempered, overtired, and impatient with Grantaire. The difference was all in Grantaire's interpretation of the actions. An old thought returned for examination in light of the new evidence.

Enjolras got uncomfortable when Grantaire looked at him too long, or made even an innocent comment about him being attractive. One could even say he looked flustered. Enjolras didn't _hate_ him. Dare he go so far as to assume he might... _like_ him?

That seemed like far too remote a possibility. It made no sense whatever, and invited Grantaire's negative self-esteem to crush any budding feelings of optimism and hope with the most grueling depressive episode he'd ever suffered, so he kept that one at bay. It itched the back of his mind, willing him to acknowledge how much sense it actually made, but he was incapable of feeding that particular hope. Enjolras couldn't like him. Enjolras barely tolerated him. He was only sleeping on Grantaire's couch because Grantaire had whined him into it; otherwise he'd be avoiding him entirely.

But sometimes he smiled when Grantaire walked into the Musain while he was working. To the eye untrained in Enjolras, it might come off as more of a grimace. Enjolras didn't do big toothy grins like Courfeyrac, or warm little quirks of lips like Joly. Even his expressions of joy carried a little bit of menace with them. He was just that kind of person.

Grantaire was treated to one of those grimace-grins when he walked into the Musain, loaded down with as many books and notebooks as Combeferre and the other brainy over-acheivers made it habit to bring with them. He tried to wave at Enjolras as best he could around a massive three volume history of medieval art, then ambled over to their usual tables in the back. He had to commandeer a table for himself, just to fit all of his research materials.

Prouvaire let out a low whistle when he saw the books that had been in Grantaire's arms joined by the books he was pulling out of his backpack. “What's all this?”

“Last ditch effort not to fail art history. I've got the weekend to write an entire extra research project. You know, on the scale of the shit we usually get an entire semester for. My quiz grades were all shit, but she said I could sub in a research paper and she'd take the practical application instead. I might be able to scrape up a C this way.”

“That's a lot of work, R. I don't think it's possible to do a research paper in one weekend. At least, not if you haven't already done the research. How many pages is it supposed to be?”

“Twenty five to thirty. And APA citations, for some fucking reason. I'm doing Chicago anyway. It's art history, ergo we should be treating it like history. And I likes my footnotes.” He started organizing the books into piles based on what he'd need them for. “It's not hopeless. I've got a battle plan. Research tonight and tomorrow morning, outline and draft tomorrow night, Sunday will be rewriting, and Monday morning I can format it before I hand it in. Piece of cake.”

“Do you have a thesis yet?” Prouvaire asked with a pointed lift of his eyebrows.

“I'm going to go grab a coffee. Gonna need to keep my caffeine levels up.” In truth, he didn't even have his topic narrowed to an area of focus yet.

But he wasn't going to panic. Panicking was entirely counter productive. Grantaire was good at paper writing. He could do this.

Enjolras was waiting for him at the counter with a medium half-caf dark roast, his usual order when he was going to be dicking around with his friends. He gave the coffee a wistful look, regretful that he wouldn't be drinking it. He'd even left his flask at home. “Sorry Enj, but I've gotta change up my order. I need a large light roast with an espresso shot. I'm initiating myself into the grand college tradition of over-nighters.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “I did notice that you had an unusual amount of books with you, but I assumed you must have been loaning them out. Those are...for you?”

“Yeah. I, uh...I might be failing a class, but I can scrape by if I get this huge ass paper done this weekend. It's just, she didn't really give me enough time because I think she wants me to fail. And if my grades plummet and I lose my scholarship, my dad doesn't want to make up the difference. He thinks my major's a total waste anyway. So I've actually gotta work, for once.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Everyone always told me I wouldn't be able to coast by on natural smarts and bullshitting ability forever. I finally found the professor that's going to hold me to that. I never want to take a class with this woman again. Seriously, I think she gets off on ruining kids' academic prospects.”

“Or maybe she's just trying to motivate you. I'm sorry to hear it, though. One weekend is not enough time for a project like that.” Enjolras emptied the half-caf and started on the new order. Grantaire leaned against the counter and let out a sigh. He was trying to exude more confidence than he felt, but really this paper was scaring the crap out of him.

It's not like he was the only one who would suffer if his finances collapsed.

Enjolras' fingers brushed his when he handed over the coffee cup. His smile looked more genuine and less grimace-like than ever when he wished Grantaire good luck.

Grantaire hadn't been sure studying at the Musain was the best choice, what with his flighty attention span and tendency towards self-sabotage when it came to anything resembling personal responsibility. He was sure he was going to let himself be distracted by his friends. Fortunately for him, his friends anticipated that tendency and actively worked to combat it.

Prouvaire had spread the word about Grantaire's situation while he was getting the coffee, and they all set about helping him. He narrowed his focus to death iconography while chatting with Combeferre, who suggested he further narrow to the late medieval period. Then Jehan culled his research materials, moving all the books and articles that didn't fit the parameters of his newly focused paper to another table. Combeferre pulled him into conversation about his favorite of the books he'd brought, and by the end of it they had an idea that could turn into a thesis with a little supplemental research. Each of his friends grabbed an article print out and started highlighting main ideas, while Grantaire worked his way through his books. Enjolras came by the table periodically to refill his coffee, gradually lowering the caffeine content as he saw Grantaire move towards nervous jitters.

He didn't even notice the cookie at his elbow until he was nibbling on it, as he'd been completely zeroed in on his reading on Ars Moriendi pamphlets. “Guys...where did this cookie come from?”

“Enjolras brought that over for you twenty minutes ago,” Joly said. “He seems like he's in a good mood tonight so I don't think you have to worry about it being poisoned.”

“Is that a good mood?” Bossuet asked. “He seems kinda on edge.”

“Shit.” Grantaire just managed to resist the urge to face-plant against his book. “I told him I was going to lose my scholarship if I failed this paper, and that my dad's pissed at me and isn't going to help. He knows he's back to homelessness if I fuck up. That's why he's being nice to me and trying to help.”

Joly frowned. “R, I don't think that's it. For starters, Enjolras wasn't nearly as concerned by his homelessness as you were.”

“True,” Combeferre said with a nod. “I think he actually took a sort of self-righteous pride in being a reflection of the LGBT youth homelessness crisis. You destroyed one of his activist talking points by giving him a place to stay. I think it's much more likely he's concerned on your behalf.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You guys seriously think that's more likely? Come on, Ferre. I thought you were smart. Maybe I shouldn't be letting you help me with this paper.”

“Speaking of the paper, I think we're making good progress,” Prouvaire piped up. “We've got all your articles reduced down to talking points for you, and Bossuet and I even found you some good quotes to cite.”

“How? I don't have my thesis yet.”

“You haven't figured out how to word it yet, but you're dancing on the edge of a central argument,” Prouvaire said. “I think we've got you ahead of that insane schedule you came up with for yourself. You should be able to get some sleep tonight and start writing in the morning.”

Grantaire took the stack of article print outs from Combeferre and looked over the highlights and notes. His eyebrows climbed higher and higher as he looked at the insightful scribbles his friends had made. It was good to know so many compassionate brains.

Maybe it was the unusually high level of caffeine consumption, or just the relief of having shared a burden that had been eating away at him for days, but Grantaire felt tears pricking his eyes. He was going to get through this.

He garbled out something that almost sounded like thank you and took another bite of his cookie.

They were still at the Musain through closing time. Enjolras even let them stay after he'd locked the doors. Once he was done counting out the register he let their friends out, leaving Grantaire in the back to condense his research materials and fit them back into his bag as best he was able. He stacked the chairs on top of the table when he was done, and went over to the counter to wait for Enjolras to finish the closing tasks.

They walked home together in near silence. Enjolras had insisted on carrying the three volume hardcover set, the biggest and most cumbersome of Grantaire's books. He dropped it on the coffee table as soon as they were in the apartment, with a lot less tenderness and care than he usually treated books. Grantaire noticed then that he was swaying on his feet.

The significance of Enjolras feeding him sweets and coffee refills all night finally dawned on him. Grantaire had only paid for the first coffee, and Enjolras had worked a ten hour shift. “Did you eat anything?”

“I'm fine,” Enjolras said. Grantaire nudged him, and his knees buckled and he fell onto the sofa. His glare was just about the only part of him that had any strength to it.

“You used your comped meal on me, didn't you?”

“You needed it more than me.”

“The hell I did! I was sitting still all night surrounded by supportive buddies. _You_ were hauling ass around an understaffed cafe getting bitched at by elitist, entitled yuppies. I can't believe you neglected yourself like that.”

“For fuck's sake, Grantaire. Is it so hard for you to understand that for once I wanted to be able to do something nice for you in return, and the only thing I can fucking manage is a free cookie and some coffee? I swear to god, someday when I'm on my feet again I will do better, but for now can you just let me have this?” He rubbed at his eyes with his hand, an obvious excuse to hide his face.

Grantaire sighed and sat down across from him in his armchair to remove his boots. He kept his head down for a few minutes, willing his anger away. Truth be told, he'd feel pretty terrible if he was in Enjolras' position. He much preferred giving help to taking it, and wasn't sure how he was ever going to repay his friends for their help with this paper.

Prouvaire made it easy enough to receive that kind of support, but Enjolras was something else entirely.

“I'm sorry. I...really don't know what to say,” Grantaire muttered. “You already know I worry about your health and safety all the time, and you hate it so it seems pretty idiotic to say it again. It's just, it's a thing for me, okay? Would it be okay if I cooked something for you now?”

“I'd appreciate it.” His tone of voice was more fitting for someone ripping off a band-aid, or bracing themselves to have blood drawn, or something else unpleasant that you had to grit your teeth and get through, than for someone offering thanks for a favor. Grantaire couldn't help but smile.

“I'll make you a stir fry, then. I've got some tofu and veggies, and I'm sure you could use the veggies and protein right now. It shouldn't take me too long.”

“That's fine. Grantaire...I'm sorry. I don't mean-it's just a sore subject. I like to think of myself as independent, and right now clearly I'm not.” Enjolras' fists were clenched on his lap. He was sitting with his head down, but Grantaire could still see a look of self-disgust that tore at his heart.

He could sympathize. His default mode was self-disgust, which was why he spent so much time getting out of his own head with drink and friends. It wasn't a particularly great existence, and he hated seeing anything like it on Enjolras.

“I get it,” Grantaire said. “It's hard to need help. I know it's different, but needing all my friends tonight on that paper sucked something awful. I'll never be able to pay them back. But they don't expect me to, either. That's not how friendship works. We just...help each other.” He shrugged. He couldn't think of a way to put it more eloquently than that. “Anyway, I'll be right back with the stir fry.”

Chopping the veggies up proved to be a soothing task for his tired brain, and the repetitive actions helped him work out the last of the caffeine jitters. Grantaire felt much calmer when he returned to the living room with two plates of food than when he'd left. His anxiety was a quiet, manageable thrum and not something he was going to need to drown in vodka before bed.

The wonders of friendship and good food, he supposed.

He'd expected Enjolras to get ready for bed while he was cooking, but the poor kid was still on the couch in his work clothes. He was slumped over the arm, passed out and miserable looking. Grantaire set the plates on the coffee table and gently shook his shoulder.

Enjolras blinked up at him sleepily, eyes unfocused and mouth hanging open. “Huh? Oh, that smells really good.” His stomach let out a loud rumble.

For the next few minutes Enjolras was far too invested in devouring the meal to interact with Grantaire at all. He only poked at his own food, watching his crush with some satisfaction. Even though they'd been living together for a couple months, Enjolras rarely let Grantaire cook for him. He always had to be sneaky if he wanted to feed his reluctant roommate, and the pretending to make more food than he meant to ruse was so thin as to defy any credence at this point.

“What time are you working tomorrow?” Grantaire asked, once Enjolras was nearly finished attacking his food and thus had the luxury of being able to speak again.

“Just a short mid shift tomorrow. I'm eleven to six.”

“Ah. I'm probably only sleeping for like four hours tonight. You should take the bed again and sleep in.”

“R...”

“I'm also going to be spreading out my research materials all over the god damn living room, and going in and out of the kitchen. The light'll be going on and off. Seriously, I never confine myself to my bedroom when I'm actually working on something. You won't get any sleep on the couch.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It's seriously for the best for both of us.”

“Um...why don't you spend the four hours in the bed again though. We...we shared okay last time. It's just...you're not that much shorter than me. I don't think you should be sleeping on the couch.”

Grantaire couldn't help but laugh. “Because of this stupid paper, I'd be sleeping on the couch even if there wasn't going to be a gorgeous blond in my bed. Shit, sorry.”

“No, it's...it's okay.” Enjolras set his plate on the coffee table and covered a yawn with his hand. “You're my friend, Grantaire. I shouldn't be biting your head off when you tease me about my looks. It's quite different from some lecherous stranger doing it. I know there's no harm in you.”

Grantaire was a bit dumbstruck. He recovered quickly. “You think I'm teasing you?”

Enjolras frowned at him. “Aren't you?”

“Not in the least. Enj, I think you're like the most beautiful human being I've ever seen. It's just kinda like pointing out that Combeferre is smart and Prouvaire is compassionate and Bossuet is a walking disaster with an infectious laugh. You're a genius, you're kinda scary sometimes, and you're also fucking beautiful. There's no mockery there. It's just true.”

Enjolras' brow furrowed as he puzzled over that. “Oh. I'd thought for sure you were making fun of me somehow. I'd never really understood it.”

“Um. I can't be the only person who's ever told you you're gorgeous.”

“You're the only _friend_ who does it. Otherwise it's just perverts or people who are dismissing me somehow. The, 'oh what a pretty white boy, and he thinks he knows something' attitude. I...I wasn't sure what to...um. Hm. Well, I think you're nice looking too? God, that feels weird to say. I don't like talking about looks. It's...um. It's not the kind of attention I enjoy getting, honestly.”

Something clicked in Grantaire's brain, something he felt he should have picked up on ages ago. Enjolras was drop dead gorgeous, froze up whenever it was pointed out to him, and got visibly uncomfortable and threatened looking when strangers flirted with him.

Shit.

For once, he decided against saying anything and just determined to be more careful from then on. When they got into bed, he remained firmly his side of the mattress and keep as much distance as possible between him and Enjolras.

For some odd reason, Enjolras was more relaxed. There wasn't a hint of tension in his posture, and he went to sleep facing Grantaire. He murmured a sleepy good night, and was breathing deeply and evenly maybe a minute after his head touched the pillow.

Grantaire knew he'd be better off following suit. He should grab his few hours and recharge his brain before diving back into the paper. Instead, he found himself rolling onto his side and facing Enjolras, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. He looked unguarded, which was definitely a new and improved look for him.

He had to get an A on this paper, and possibly work harder on school and maybe life in general. Enjolras didn't seem to have felt much in the way of safety and security in his short life. Grantaire wanted to be able to be the one to change that for him. He vowed to do whatever he could to keep a roof over Enjolras' head and food on his plate, whatever the cost to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

“R?”

Grantaire made a feeble attempt to whack the thing that was shaking his shoulder. Not only did he come nowhere near hitting it, but then his wrist was trapped by cold, bony fingers. It was _not_ a pleasant sensation. He whined and squirmed until the thing let go, then hid under the blankets. “M'awake. M'awake. Did the alarm even go off?”

“Yes,” Enjolras, the owner of the icicle claws, informed him. “Your alarm woke me up but you snored right through it.”

Grantaire shifted the blankets enough so that he could peer out through a small gap. Enjolras was sitting on the bed next to him, posture relaxed and hair rumpled from sleep. He carefully filed the image away, to be used for cheerful romantic fantasies that had no hope of coming true. It was a fucking cruel vision of the kind of intimacy and domesticity he would have liked to share with his unrequited love. Enjolras was even wearing his pajamas again.

“Did you…?” The apartment smelled like coffee. Grantaire unburrowed himself and made the monumental effort to sit up.

“I set the coffee maker for you, yes. I'd thought about trying to prepare food as well, but any thoughtfulness conveyed in the gesture would have been lost in horrendous execution. I took the Poptarts out of the cabinet for you though.”

Without thinking, Grantaire lurched forward and planted a kiss on Enjolras' cheek. “You're too perfect to be real right now. Thank you.”

Enjolras looked a little shell shocked. He touched his now magenta cheek and looked down at his lap. “If there's anything else I can do to help you with the paper, let me know.”

“Coffee is seriously like the best start ever. But go back to sleep, okay? You shouldn't even have woken up for this. If you don't have to be at the cafe until eleven you really should sleep in. I'll try not to be noisy.”

“Don't worry about it. Good luck with the paper.” Enjolras disappeared back into the blankets, so Grantaire stumbled out to the kitchen to get to work.

It was still dark out. He'd known that it would be. He'd planned to be up as early as possible, because he had a shit ton of work to get done in an unreasonably short period of time, but it was still disheartening to see. The coffee and the sad little box of Poptarts sitting on a plate for him were very cheering though.

Grantaire was on his second cup of coffee when he felt compelled to do a spit take.

He'd kissed Enjolras. On the cheek, but still.

“Oh god.” He slid down in the kitchen chair and slapped a hand over his face. He hadn't even been drunk. There was no excuse for invading the guy's space like that. “I'm such an asshole.” At least Enjolras must have been as exhausted as he was, because he hadn't even yelled at him for it. Really, he probably should have gotten hit.

He _needed_ to stop flirting with him. Enjolras had made his lack of interest very clear when they'd first met. He needed to respect those boundaries. It's not like this was the first time Grantaire had fallen victim to a powerful and unreciprocated crush. Frankly, all the romantic feelings he'd ever had had been unreciprocated. He should have been used to it.

And yet, something about Enjolras just turned his brain to mush while frying his impulse control.

“All right, R, wallow in self-loathing later. Now you need to focus.” He drained what was left of his coffee, cracked his knuckles, and got to work.

* * *

The living room looked like the site of some sort of natural disaster when Enjolras tentatively poked his head in after his shift. Grantaire hadn't even heard him leave for work, and almost didn't notice him getting back in. He was too busy pacing careful, jittery circles around the stacks of books and papers on the floor.

He'd moved all the furniture up against one wall so that he'd have more room for his research materials, and also have some room to move around. Confining himself to a two bedroom apartment on little sleep and two pots of coffee was turning out not to have been the best idea in the world. He was shaky, anxious, and having a difficult time focusing. He hadn't been able to actually sit down at the computer for more than ten minutes at a time since finishing the second pot.

“I would ask how things are going but I think I can already infer an answer. Grantaire, I think you need to take a break.”

“I'm fine. It's fine. I've already got ten pages written.”

“So you just need fifteen more? That's not so bad.” Enjolras slowly walked into the room, careful to avoid the messy stacks of research materials. He kept a respectful distance from Grantaire. “It sounds like you've earned a study break then. Have you eaten yet?”

“I...I think so? Wait, no. I stopped at...I ate at least one thing after it got light out, but I wouldn't say I've had an actual meal today. Hold on! I've got it. I know how I can tie the three living, three dead motif into my ars moriendi discussion. Out of the way, my laptop's behind you.” Grantaire shoved past Enjolras, got into a crouching position on the floor, and started manically typing while his thoughts were still coherent.

Enjolras must have left the room again. He returned a few minutes later with some takeout menus. “Grantaire? What kind of burritos do you like?”

“M'fine. I got this. I'll eat when I've got another page done.”

“If you don't tell me then I'll just get you a vegetarian one with black beans and guac. That's what I always get.”

Grantaire went so far as to shush him. His focus remained on his laptop while he struggled to wring a few more paragraphs from his tired brain. By the time the burst of insight petered out he'd added another two and a half pages to his count. He would have been happy about the progress, but he knew it was also all he was really going to manage without some rest, and he'd hoped to be nearly done with the first draft of the paper by the end of the day. He still needed to revise and format it.

It's not like he just needed to have a twenty five to thirty page paper finished by the end of the weekend. It actually had to be _good_ , or subbing it in for his quiz grades wasn't going to accomplish jack shit.

He read back his last paragraph, hoping for some spark of insight that would let him push out a few more sentences, but he was intellectually running on empty. Under normal circumstances he could rant about art for hours. This shouldn't have been as hard as it was.

“Fuck.” Grantaire buried a hand in his hair and gave a quick tug. “C'mon, you're better than this. Just get it done. Think. Think. Argh, maybe I really should take a break. Enjolras?” He set the computer down and went into the kitchen, thinking he ought to apologize to Enjolras for ignoring him and figure out the food situation.

God, he hoped Enjolras wasn't actually going to buy takeout for them. He couldn't afford it, and there was plenty of food in the fridge. But Enjolras wasn't in the apartment, so that must have been exactly what he'd done. Unless Grantaire had chased him off by being an utter asshole.

He sat down at the kitchen table and dropped his head into his shaking hands.

When he rambled endlessly about art and history he was usually drunk. When he was uninhibited, when his depression and anxiety were blurred to a manageable level, the words and ideas just came. Those kinds of relaxed, bantering observations probably wouldn't get him an A on this paper though. He really was completely fucked, and as a consequence, so was Enjolras. They'd both be sleeping on park benches, and it was his fault.

“I need a drink.” All he'd had so far was coffee, which had gotten him hopped up and spazzy. He was a high functioning alcoholic, dammit. Clearly, forgoing alcohol for a whole day didn't agree with him.

Grantaire snagged a bottle of red wine and returned to the living room. He wanted to flop onto the couch, but he'd moved all the furniture up against the wall and right now the couch had an armchair and the coffee table on it. As he didn't feel like fixing everything, he sat down on a mostly clear bit of floor and took a sip directly from the bottle.

Enjolras found him there a few minutes later, when he returned with a paper bag that smelled delicious. “Oh good, you're taking a break. I brought you a veggie and guac burrito.”

“I've got food here, Enj. Why don't you save that for work tomorrow?”

“Because I got it for _you_. Now eat it. Here.” He shoved the bag into Grantaire's hands and then sat down across from him, delectable ass plopping right onto a stack of pictures of transi-tombs. “You need food. You damn well shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach right now.”

“Yes, _mother_.”

“Sass me all you want after you've eaten. We can chat about how annoying it is to have a friend look out for us and nag us to take better care of ourselves.” One corner of his mouth was quirked in something that was almost a smirk. Grantaire responded with a full, actual smile, and obediently opened the bag and took out his burrito.

It actually was really good, and he was apparently more hungry than he'd noticed because he destroyed it in no time. “You didn't get one for yourself?”

“I ate at work. Really, Grantaire. I had a hummus wrap from the bake case. If you want to grab some sleep, I can wake you up in a few hours. It'll be easier to work on the paper if you let yourself recharge a little.”

“If I had a sane deadline I would, but I don't have that luxury right now. I can't sleep until I have the first draft done.”

“It's not quite seven thirty yet. There's still plenty of Saturday left. I think you can sleep for a couple of hours and still keep Sunday open for rewrites and formatting. Trust me, R. I won't let you oversleep.”

Grantaire mumbled his thanks. He took a few more sips of the wine, which was helping with his headache enough to be worrying, but he already had a bit too much on his plate regarding worries to give much thought to his “high-functioning” alcoholism. Then he wearily struggled to his feet and shuffled off to bed.

* * *

Enjolras stuck to his word. Grantaire got exactly two hours of sleep in, and then he was hauled out of bed, this time with the enticement of a hot chocolate. The warm beverage in his hand put him into study-mode without the risk of caffeine jitters. He couldn't help but be a little amused at his conditioned response to hot beverages, although it was nice that he felt the desire to read and write.

Enjolras had been busy while Grantaire was asleep. He'd tidied up the living room, putting the furniture back into place and neatening up the stacks of books and papers. The fact that Grantaire had slept like the dead while skinny, malnourished little Enjolras hauled furniture by himself one room away was kind of alarming. Grantaire was glad he only had one class on Tuesday. He was probably going to lose the whole day recovering from the hell he was putting himself through.

Grantaire sat down in front of his computer to read back his last few paragraphs to check for their coherency, not trusting the overtired and anxious state of mind he'd written them in. To his surprise, he was actually able to keep almost everything. Not only that, but typos he'd known he'd left had been cleaned up.

The whole paper was cleaned up. All the red underlines from his messy, erratic first-draft spellings were gone, and there were extra footnotes in a red font suggesting minor edits. Grantaire looked up from his laptop, to where Enjolras was hovering over him wearing an uncertain look.

“I don't really have much understanding of art, so I'm not sure how much use my suggestions will be. I'm fairly good at writing papers though, and I know how to sharpen arguments. I thought...well, does it help at all?”

“Magnificently. Yes, thank you.”

Enjolras' face lit up. “Excellent. If you need me to read anything over, just let me know. It's actually, it's really interesting. I've never thought about art like this before, but what you were saying about it being a vehicle for getting ideas out in majority illiterate societies, that makes perfect sense. It's not just there to look pretty, and really I'd never thought medieval art was that pretty anyway. It's...it's reaching people in a way words don't.”

“Personally, I think art's more powerful than words could ever be, but I'm biased. I've always been better at communicating that way.”

“I'd just...” Enjolras shrugged his shoulders. “I'd always just seen it as ornamentation, I suppose. Anyway, I want to read the paper when it's done.” He picked up one of Grantaire's research books, one on the influence of the Black Death on art and society, and sat down next to Grantaire to read while he wrote.

Grantaire got back to work on his paper, and for the first time since starting he felt relaxed about it. He really did like writing papers, and he was good at it. The thought that his words had inspired Enjolras to look at art in a new way and actually appreciate it kindled a new and sorely needed confidence in him. His enthusiasm and passion for art was something he'd never been able to convey to his family, who kept dismissing his major as completely useless and selfish indulgence. But if he could bring Enjolras around, who knows? Maybe there was hope for his father seeing him as more than a fuck-up as well.

* * *

Grantaire finished the first draft of the paper just after midnight. Feeling incredibly optimistic and pleased with himself, he decided to go to sleep and set his alarm for eight o'clock. Eight hours seemed more than fair for that amount of work.

Then the insomnia and self-doubt hit. His traitorous brain turned around every shred of supporting evidence he'd gathered for his arguments and nitpicked them to death. Then he kept flip-flopping on whether he should do the APA citations after all. They didn't really make sense, and no, he should stick to his guns and use the history citations. He needed his footnotes.

He bolted up in bed, vaguely took note of the fact that his clock read four am, and then ran into the living room to get his laptop.

There were so many things he needed to fix if that paper had any hope of getting him to pass the class.

He snagged his laptop from the coffee table and sat down on the couch, then jumped up again, banged his shin on the table, and fell on the floor.

He'd completely forgotten that Enjolras was sleeping on the couch and sitting on his legs had scared the crap out of him.

And also woken Enjolras up. “What? Huh? Grantaire?” Enjolras sat up and pushed some wayward blond curls out of his face. “What are you...I thought you were going to bed?”

“I was, but then I realized that I fucked nearly everything I wrote up and I...I'm sorry I sat on you.”

Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. “It's okay. But you should go to sleep.”

“Can't. I, I tried and I couldn't fall asleep.”

“But you need to put the paper away for a little bit. The point is to get distance so you can...can reflect and make the changes with a clear head.” He yawned, and then swung his legs over the edge of the couch. “I've got an idea. Let's put on a TV show you like. Something mindless and familiar. Maybe you'll drift off while it's on.” Enjolras got up, took the laptop from Grantaire and set it back on the table. He helped Grantaire to his feet. He must have been tired, because he held Grantaire's hands just a tad bit longer than was strictly necessary. “Sit down and get comfy. I'll go get the pillow from your room.”

“O-okay.” Grantaire sat down on the couch, feeling stupid and slow. Upon reflection Enjolras had been completely right to talk him out of working on the paper. He'd probably only delete things he needed and confuse points that were crystal clear.

Enjolras was only gone for a minute. When he got back he had some extra pillows and the blankets from Grantaire's bed. He plopped the pillows onto the arms of the couch, threw the blanket over Grantaire's lap, then turned on the television and pulled up Netflix. “What do you want for your crap TV?”

“Cooking shows,” Grantaire said. He tended to go back and forth between cartoons and cooking shows when his insomnia was acting up, and he'd done cartoons last time. He took the remote from Enjolras and put on Cutthroat Kitchen. “This is the wrong choice. I fucking love this show. I probably won't be able to sleep through it.”

“So we'll just watch a couple of episodes and see if it helps you relax. If you're not as wound up, we can shut it off and go to bed.” Enjolras burrowed into the blankets next to him. “I've never even heard of this one.”

“Oh, it's good. It's all about schadenfreude. The chefs just get tortured with these malicious challenges. I usually watch it when Bahorel's over.”

“Ah.”

Grantaire put on one of his favorite episodes, relaxed into the blankets, and did his damndest not to think about medieval art or dead people or grave decoration at all. As expected, the show caught his attention too much for him to even think of sleep, but his anxiety started to go back down again. Focusing on the cooking challenges and thinking about how he'd handle them kept him from cycling through all the work he still had left on the paper.

Enjolras, it seemed, was not nearly as enraptured by the show. He nodded off halfway through the second challenge. Rather than slumping against the pillow he'd placed on the opposite arm of the couch, he ended up slumped against Grantaire's side with his head resting on Grantaire's shoulder.

He probably should have nudged Enjolras onto the pillow, but Grantaire was a weak, sad little man and he couldn't resist temptation like that. He leaned back against the arm of the couch and slid his arm around Enjolras' waist, shifting their postures so that he'd serve as a better pillow for Enjolras.

The poor kid looked utterly wiped. Enjolras had put nearly as much work into this stupid paper as Grantaire himself. He was going to have to do something really special for him to make up for it. Starting with not failing the paper and fucking his finances, he supposed.

Grantaire settled the blanket around them, not feeling anxious in the least. Instead of that old jittery feeling that kept him from sitting in one place too long, that had him bouncing from project to project and thought to thought and made him feel like he was failing at everything and accomplishing nothing, he felt an unfamiliar contentedness. He could stay in this one spot forever, were that an option.

He must have actually fallen asleep at some point, because suddenly he was opening his eyes to the 'is anyone still watching?' screen and a room lit by the sun. Enjolras was still pressed to his side, and they were most definitely snuggling.

So Grantaire did something a little selfish and most definitely stupid. He gently touched Enjolras' chin and tilted his face just enough so he could press a quick kiss to his temple. Grantaire was only half-awake himself, and feeling fuzzy and a bit giddy from all the cycles of stress and calm and stress and calm that had come with the weekend.

For one horrible moment he thought he'd woken Enjolras up. He had no explanation to give for the kiss, hell, he was pretty sure Enjolras wouldn't be thrilled with the cuddling either. Really, he should have left Enjolras on the couch and gone back to his own room. But he was saved his apologies and groveling. Enjolras' eyelashes fluttered a little, but otherwise he didn't stir.

This was ridiculous. Enjolras was only being so uncharacteristically kind to him because he was a generally good person who got indignant in the face of injustice, and everyone seemed to agree that the actions of Grantaire's professor counted as such. Enjolras was trying to help him in a friendly way, and besides that, he had a material interest in the outcome. Grantaire _needed_ to stop reading romance that wasn't there into the guy's actions. He was just torturing himself.

He allowed himself one more minute to bask in the feel of Enjolras' reassuring weight against his side, and then he repositioned him on the couch so that he was lying against a pillow. Like he should have hours ago. He tucked the blankets around Enjolras, and couldn't help but sigh and gaze at him longingly for another minute.

Actually, now that Grantaire was standing over him Enjolras looked kind of like crap. Or, as crap as the unearthly beautiful ever looked. In addition to the obvious exhaustion that had become habitual lately, his expression was troubled. Maybe he slept better when he snuggled something. Grantaire thought of trying to maneuver another pillow into his arms, but he was sure to wake him doing that, and all things considered he'd rather not have to explain any of this.

He _hoped_ Enjolras managed at least a few more hours of restful sleep before he had to get up for work. Sundays were long shifts that Enjolras worked with some of his least favorite coworkers. He'd need the rest.

“God, and I woke him up with my bullshit. I'm such a fucking mess.” Grantaire scrubbed a hand through his hair, let out an irritated sigh, and then retreated to his bedroom.

* * *

 

Enjolras was already gone when Grantaire woke up, the blankets folded neatly on the end of the couch and his favorite coffee mug sitting in the strainer. The coffee maker was empty and clean, but it was rather a different feel from the other morning, when the coffee was already made and the box of Poptarts was sitting at the table for him.

Grantaire gave himself a little shake. Enjolras was being nice to him out of pity and concern over their financial situation. He couldn't read too much into the little gestures, and needed to get ready for them to stop. Soon they'd be back to normal, which was to say Grantaire would put his foot in his mouth and Enjolras would take him to task for it.

He thought about doing the finishing work on the paper in the apartment, but then, he hadn't gone out once the day before, and it was lonely and sad. If he kept his focus the Musain would be fine. Besides that, he was stir-crazy. He wasn't feeling lethargic-depressed at the moment, and confining himself to the apartment for another day sounded like torture.

So Grantaire showered, dressed, packed up his things, and lugged his overly full backpack to the back room of the Musain. He settled into the spot the brains usually occupied, figuring that Bahorel and Bossuet would be too much distraction once everyone started trickling in, and dutifully started formatting the paper. His friends started showing up in the afternoon, and he was actually more productive for the company. Every time his attention was pulled away from his work for too long, Combeferre poked him or Prouvaire asked a pointed question about the paper.

It felt really good when Combeferre and Prouvaire took the laptop from him and read the paper back together, Prouvaire's head resting on Combeferre's shoulder. Those two sat back with stacks of articles they'd printed from J-Stor and similar databases _for fun_. If they thought his paper was good then he was sure to pass.

“Grantaire, this is brilliant. Have you thought about submitting it to the undergrad research seminar? You should seriously be presenting this,” Combeferre said.

Prouvaire nodded his agreement. “I love it. I can't believe you churned this out in a single weekend. It's witchcraft.”

“It's lots of support,” Grantaire said, shooting a quick look towards the other room, where he knew Enjolras was probably struggling to be polite and friendly to rude customers while running on six hours of interrupted sleep. “Anyway, you don't have to humor me. As long as it'll get me a C for the semester I won't lose my scholarship.”

“You should get an A,” Prouvaire insisted.

“I still think it's utter bullshit your professor assigned this to you to begin with,” Combeferre said. “A make up project to help improve your grades is one thing. Students who are struggling but show an honest effort to improve should be given every opportunity to pass their classes, especially when a scholarship that keeps them in school is on the line. But she couldn't have expected you to actually pull this off.”

“And the experience probably wasn't good for you,” Prouvaire said, a thoughtful look on his face. He knew something of Grantaire's mental health struggles, although generally Grantaire liked to avoid talking about it with his friends. And no, the paper hadn't been good for his mental health at all. Over-consuming caffeine wreaked havoc with his anxiety, had exacerbated his insomnia, and the stress probably would have driven him to some self-harm if he'd had the leisure of study breaks. It really was a cruel thing to do to another human being.

But what was he supposed to do about it? It wasn't fair, no, but his professor had all the power here. If he wanted to pass, he certainly couldn't call attention to what a tyrannical, sadistic cow she was being.

“You should complain to the dean,” Combeferre said.

Grantaire laughed. “I'll settle for passing, thanks. And, obviously, never taking a class with her again.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Enjolras pulled a chair over to their table and sat down heavily. “Have you finished it then?”

“Down to the last citation,” Jehan said with a proud smile.

“That's wonderful. Oh, congratulations, R. I'm so happy for you.” Enjolras gave his shoulder a quick squeeze that left his skin tingling under the fabric of his t-shirt.

“How's the shift going?”

Enjolras groaned and slouched down in his chair. “It goes. Just three hours left. Well, and then closing essentially by myself because I'm closing with Azelma. So more like four hours, but there won't be customers for the last bit.”

“So it's not all bad then.” Grantaire smiled tiredly and nodded at him. “I'm thinking of getting myself something greasy and cheese covered as a reward for getting through this hellish weekend. Is there anything particularly indulgent and awful-tastic that you've been craving?”

“Honestly, I find myself longing for balanced nutrition more than anything else these days. Junk food is fairly cheap,” Enjolras said. “But get whatever you want. It's your celebration, and I've already had a wrap from the bake case.”

'For lunch,' Grantaire thought, but didn't dare say aloud.

Enjolras spent the rest of his fifteen with them, asking after Grantaire's paper and begging to read at least the conclusion (“You're terrible at having a break, you know. You're not supposed to read sloppy academic writing. That's not a break.” “Grantaire, will you kindly shut up so I can read, please? Sloppy writing takes more concentration.” “Wait...it's not really sloppy, is it?” “I'm just teasing, you perfect fool.”) For some reason, when he left to go back to work, Prouvaire and Combeferre were grinning about something.

“What?” Grantaire finally asked. It was getting unsettling. Even the guys at the other end of the pushed together tables were shooting him looks.

“You, uh...making any headway there, R?” Courfeyrac asked, doing a terrible job at pretending to be casual.

“I'd say he is,” Prouvaire said.

Grantaire frowned at them. “I think I get what you're inferring, but I'm also confused as fuck because that makes no sense. Enjolras puts up with me because I'm giving him a place to stay, and he's actually friends with all of you. That's it.”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Sure it is...”

“Fuck off, that's exactly it. I piss him off all the time. Seriously, he spent almost his whole break telling me to shut up and calling me names. I don't see how any of you could read that as an attempt at flirting.”

“Oh, easily enough.” Prouvaire took a sip of his tea, hiding that annoying knowing smile he wore for a few seconds. Then he made a pleased hum. “I'm not surprised you don't see it, R, given, well...that you're _you_ , but do try to believe us. I think Enjolras actually likes you a lot.”

“Me too,” Combeferre said.

“Me three,” Joly piped up, leaning over Bossuet to join the conversation. “And I have known him longer than you. Feuilly even said so, and he's known Enjolras longer than any of us.”

Grantaire tried to process that and came up blank. “This isn't funny, you know. Like, if this is supposed to be a joke it's in pretty shitty taste.”

“Grantaire, we would never joke about something like this.” Combeferre started to say more, but Prouvaire touched his arm and arched an eyebrow.

“Grantaire, we're sorry,” he said, turning a pained look Grantaire's way. “We were teasing you, but not in the way you think. We all genuinely do think Enjolras likes you a great deal, but we won't make light of it. I know your feelings for him are very strong.”

Grantaire pressed his lips together. There was a massive lump in his throat he couldn't speak around so he only nodded instead. Strong didn't do his feelings justice. Really, it was turning into an obsession, and if he were a healthier person overall it might have started to worry him.

“I think you should talk to him,” Combeferre said.

An odd sort of huffing sound that was almost a laugh and mostly horrified escaped him. Grantaire shook his head, his old, more familiar anxiety starting to come back. “I can't talk about this right now. I think I'm going to get that junk food. Guys, thanks for all the help on the paper. Next round of drinks at the Corinth is on me.” He started hastily shoving things into his bag.

Prouvaire followed him out. Grantaire walked past the counter as fast as he could, and almost missed the surprised look on Enjolras' face when he didn't stop to say goodbye, or even wave at him. He almost looked hurt, but that was ridiculous. There was a line almost out the door. Of course he wouldn't want to waste his time with Grantaire while he was so busy.

He'd wasted far too much of his time and energy on Grantaire already that weekend, and he looked more exhausted than ever for it. He had to be tired of Grantaire's shit.

“R, do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?” Prouvaire asked.

“Knock yourself out. I don't want to talk about Enjolras though.”

“That's fair. If you ever do, I'm here for you.”

Grantaire paused and looked his friend over again. There was something familiar about the twitchy way Prouvaire kept looking at him. “You really get this, don't you? What it's like to fall in love with someone when you can't fucking stand yourself, and how confusing and shitty it feels.”

“How even the hope hurts because then it just makes you nervous, and furious with yourself when it gets dashed. And then you can't trust anything, because you're either trying to read too much into it to see things the way you want them to be, or twisting them around because you don't believe things could possibly be going well. You can't trust your own perceptions because you always see either the best or the worst but nothing of the reality, and it's maddening.” Prouvaire nodded. “That's pretty much my life right now. I thought maybe having your friends tell you what we see might help, since you probably don't trust your own perception.”

“I'm still struggling with the idea that he doesn't find me completely revolting,” Grantaire admitted. “But...really, I think he's just trying to be a little nicer to me because I'm helping him out. He still doesn't like _me_.”

“You don't seem to believe that. You just think you ought to because it's safer.” Prouvaire frowned thoughtfully. “Something happened.”

“He...was talking to himself when he thought I was asleep. He said I was effortlessly kind, and that he wished he was nicer to me. Um, that kind of made me challenge all the usual stuff where I insist he hates me. It's hard to make sense of that, y'know?”

“Well you are kind, Grantaire. You're a very fierce and loyal friend. Of course Enjolras appreciates qualities like that. He has such a hard time talking to people when it's not about social politics or activism. I think he envies you your ease in social situations.”

“Ease?” Grantaire laughed at that. “I'm fucking neurotic. I only get genial when I'm drunk, and even then it's got to be the right stage of drunk or I just turn into a sad sack. If he wants any of that, all we need to do is liquor him up a little. That's my brilliant secret. Functional alcoholism. Robs you of your filter so you forget your self-loathing enough to ramble on about bullshit and make enough of a spectacle of yourself that you're considered amusing. Personally, I think he does better with the social politics. It's naive bullshit, of course, but it comes from a really good place. His convictions suit him. If he were any less awe inspiring himself, it'd just come across as bullshit, but...it's different with him.” Grantaire shrugged. “I can't really explain it.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, then Grantaire inclined his head towards his companion. “So what about you?”

“What?”

“We're having a moment. You're identifying with my struggle. I thought you and Combeferre were doing pretty well together, but you're still gaslighting yourself, huh?”

“Mm. He...he's told me a few times over that my worries are unfounded. I believe him, it's just...it's a bit difficult to untrain yourself from those kinds of thoughts, you know?He's been very sympathetic so far, but he doesn't really understand what I'm going through.”

“Nah, I can't see how he would. It's really hard to explain this stuff to people who have normal brains that don't betray them on a regular basis. As long as he doesn't think your insecurities actually have anything to do with him and his actions, you two should be okay though.”

Prouvaire nodded. “And so far we have been. He does resent it when I refer to myself as broken though.”

Grantaire had to laugh at that. “We need to hang out more.” He motioned between them. “I think you get me.”

“Indeed. R, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to advise you to talk to Enjolras about your feelings sooner rather than later. I know and appreciate that it's difficult for you. It was difficult for me to approach Combeferre-”

“Wait, you initiated that?” He'd been dead convinced it was the other way around. Combeferre was a fair deal more confident than the timid poet.

Prouvaire nodded. “I did. I asked him to be my New Year's kiss and afterward we got to talking over our feelings and I discovered that they were, as Enjolras had huffily told me many times before, mutual. It was terrifying but I'm glad I did it. My feelings were starting to feel like a weight. It's much better, having them in the open now. And when I start to get irrational I can ground myself by actually talking to him. It's a wonderful reprieve from my head. Considering there are some parallels to our situation, I thought you might benefit from following suit.”

“I...I really don't think I have it in me. Besides that...”

“You're still afraid of being rejected? Oh dear. I'd thought you'd registered that that was irrational. Grantaire, he _likes_ you. I'm certain of it. We all are.”

“Well then why isn't he saying anything?” Grantaire snapped. “He's the fucking confident one. He's the one who always speaks his mind, whether he means to or not.”

“Perhaps you're not the only one who fears he's got some inadequacies that might be an issue in a relationship?” His tone, though far more cautious and sympathetic than their other friends might have been, still implied that Grantaire should have figured that out on his own.

Grantaire shook his head. “That's ridiculous! He's fucking everything. Personally, I don't understand how all of you guys aren't in love with him too. Like, Combeferre's a great guy and all, but have you not _seen_ Enjolras?”

“Enjolras is a wonderful person, and I understand why you're smitten with him, dear. Of course you don't mind that he's homeless, working close to sixty hours a week and has no free time to nurture a new relationship, and is somewhat short tempered from all the stress, but can you see how those circumstances might give others pause? Like you, I personally wouldn't care were I attracted to him, but I'm sure it's weighing on his mind.”

Grantaire scowled. “I'm the one with nothing to offer, not him. I mean yeah, his circumstances right now are absolute shit, but it's not his fault. He's working his ass off to get on his feet again, and he's going to do it because he's brilliant and made of conviction. He doesn't get overwhelmed, ever. He's like some kind of superhero.”

“R...you really ought to talk to him.” He took a moment finding his words. “Well, we'd really be in the same situation again. Because I do firmly believe that Enjolras could be for you what 'Ferre has been for me. But, just because...because it appears to be working, it doesn't mean it's easy or effortless. It's been difficult, trying to be whole for him when I'm not. I'd like to be able to talk to you about it. I think we should keep checking in with each other and try to grow together.”

“Fine, I agree to your pact. Should Enjolras and I ever become a thing, I promise to do regular chat sessions with you about our broken brains.” He shook Prouvaire's hand. “But I still don't see it working out the way you're picturing it.”

“I don't expect you will until after you've heard Enjolras say he has feelings for you, and even then he's going to have to repeat himself a few times. That's what happened with me and 'Ferre.”

Grantaire smirked. Prouvaire was probably right. “I'm gonna grab that food and head home. See you around, yeah?”

“Good night, R.” Prouvaire gave his hand another squeeze, then turned and headed back towards the Musain.

He hadn't had much of a chance to see Prouvaire and Combeferre interacting now that they'd started going out, what with the semester he'd been having, but they seemed to be working as a couple. And if Prouvaire was talking with Combeferre about his mental health struggles at all, that was a really good sign, even if the stable and well adjusted boyfriend didn't quite get what his partner was going through. The fact that Jehan was comfortable enough to open up to him at all was encouraging. Combeferre was going to be good for the kid.

Maybe Enjolras could do that for him…

Grantaire laughed at himself under his breath. Fat fucking chance, but it was nice to dream.

* * *

After the fact, Grantaire wasn't quite sure how he managed to get from campus to the Musain on Monday afternoon. The whole thing blurred out in his memory. As far as he could tell, one minute he'd been standing outside his professor's office absolutely shell shocked, there was some vague understanding of sidewalks and passing cars, and then he was sitting in the back office of the Musain holding a cup of water while Enjolras rubbed at his back.

“Grantaire, talk to me. What happened? And be quick, if you can. I've got to get back out on the floor.”

“I, ah...I'm sorry, I...” Grantaire put the water on Nick's desk and rubbed at his eyes. “I handed in the paper and she...she started to read it right there in front of me and she was marking it up like crazy. Then she stopped, and she said she wasn't going to bother finishing it.”

“What? That's-what was her excuse?” Enjolras' hands had balled into fists at his sides.

“She said it was too good. She said I never could have come up with that over a weekend, and she could tell it was plagiarized because she'd told me to use APA citations and mine had Chicago. But I swear, I _chose_ to use Chicago because it made more sense for the assignment. She didn't, like, even run it through a search engine or anything. She just _decided_ that I'd cheated so I'm going to fail and lose my scholarship anyway and there's nothing I can do and I worked so fucking hard, I…I feel sick.”

And then, just to make the awful situation worse, Grantaire started crying. Enjolras tried to comfort him, and that was worse because it reminded him that Enjolras was seeing him break down. Why the fuck hadn't he gone straight home? He should have been getting blackout drunk in private, not inflicting himself on Enjolras while the kid was trying to work.

At least Enjolras hadn't needed his couch that much longer anyway. He'd have enough saved up to move in with Feuilly in another month or two. Grantaire, on the other hand, was completely screwed.

“I shouldn't have come here. I'm so sorry. I'll let you get back to work.” Grantaire rubbed at his face, the tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them now that he'd started. He was so tired and weak and broken down. He'd have needed the downtime to hide and recover even if the stupid cow had taken his paper.

“Grantaire, wait. What she did to you isn't right. You can fight this.”

“I can't. I tried and I failed because that's what I fucking do. I, I'll...I'll see you tonight. Enj, I'm sorry.” He fled the room and pushed his way through the busy cafe, registering the looks of surprise and discomfort on customers' faces and feeling more exposed and humiliated every step he took.

Unlike the walk between campus and the Musain, his walk from the Musain to his apartment was painfully clear. People kept staring at him, and no wonder. His face was red and splotchy and he was _still_ crying on and off as vicious thoughts danced through his mind.

He was going to have to tell his father about everything, and that was going to suck more than crying in front of Enjolras.

When he finally got to the blessed privacy of his apartment (but how much longer would he even have such sanctuary?) Grantaire snagged a bottle blindly from the shelf in the pantry he kept his alcohol on and went into his bedroom. He kicked off his sneakers, climbed into bed, and wrapped himself in a blanket. For the next hour, at least, he drank and cried and trembled and panicked until, exhausted and emotionally spent, he collapsed into a troubled sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, a happy update is coming soon to serve as a reprieve before we start getting angsty again. Also, I'm learning more about these particular fanon versions of the boys that I'm cobbling together. Though I'm mostly leaning on my usual modern AU characterizations of them, there are some notable differences. I'm greatly enjoying this version of Enjolras. I'm wondering what he'll be like if I let him get his life in order. I get the feeling he'll be a bit different when he's relaxed and not under as much constant stress...


	8. Chapter 8

When Grantaire woke up, the first thing he saw was Enjolras.

He thought for a moment he might still be asleep, but no. The throbbing in his temples and bad taste in his mouth was a good indication he was really awake, as was his aching neck. He'd probably passed out in some sort of stupid position. The neck ache likely would have been a lot worse, but he'd been carefully rearranged on the mattress into a normal sleeping position and had the blankets tucked in around him.

The golden haired vision of perfection sleeping next to him must have been responsible for that. Enjolras was above the blanket, curled towards Grantaire but not touching him. Grantaire continued to lay there like an idiot just watching the rise and fall of his chest, the slight part of his lips, and the fan of his long eyelashes on his cheek.

Tranquil as it was, his head really did hurt. He could see a glass of water and bottle of painkillers waiting for him on the nightstand, but he couldn't reach them. He'd have to extract himself from the blankets, and since Enjolras was on top of them, he probably couldn't do that without waking him.

Huh. That must have been on purpose.

“Enjolras?”

The man was a ridiculously light sleeper. Even Grantaire's hoarse whisper snapped his eyes open. “How are you feeling?” The way he jumped instantly to full coherency was kind of creepy. Enjolras' eyes were fixed on him, studying him with an intense focus and not a hint of grogginess.

“I could use that water.” Grantaire tugged a little at the blanket, and Enjolras got the message and got up. He pulled the covers back, and once Grantaire had sat up and propped himself against the headboard he passed him the glass and a couple of pills. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” He sat down on the mattress and watched while Grantaire drank the water. Grantaire couldn't tell if Enjolras was actually upset or if it was just his resting bitch face at work.

God, how could he not be upset? Because of Grantaire's general incompetence at life he was going to be homeless again. It was a testament to Enjolras' good character that he was giving him pain medication instead of yelling at him while he was hungover and most vulnerable to raised voices.

“I'm sorry,” Grantaire whispered. He handed back the glass and hung his head.

Enjolras set the glass on the nightstand, then did the unthinkable. He pulled Grantaire into his arms and _held_ him. “I wish you'd stop apologizing. I mean, I wasn't jumping for joy when I got home and found you passed out in bed with whiskey spilled all over the sheets, but I'm not upset with you.”

“Fuck. Wait, you stripped the bed. These aren't the blankets and sheets I had on yesterday.” Grantaire ran his hand along the light comforter, noting that everything had been switched over to his summer bedding.

“Of course I stripped the bed. It was sticky and gross. Grantaire, stop. You're getting worked up for nothing. Look at me and listen to what I'm saying. I'm not mad at you.” Enjolras kept one arm wrapped firmly around Grantaire's back, and he used his other hand to tilt his chin up so that they were eye to eye. It was unnerving, and Grantaire found he couldn't meet his gaze. “How could I be mad? You were very justifiably upset and you don't handle stress well. I wish your coping mechanisms were better, but I understand what they are. I've just been worried about you. Now stop apologizing to me and just try to calm down.” He let go of Grantaire's chin and finally let him look away.

“Okay.” Grantaire closed his eyes, and made an effort to settle into the hug when every instinct he had told him this couldn't be real, and that he needed to retreat and regroup. Enjolras' arms were a little stiff, like he wasn't quite sure how hugs worked either, but it still felt really good. He'd kind of needed the hug, honestly.

“I need to talk to you, R. But I want you to calm down first because once I start talking you're going to fly off the handle and there's no reason to. So I don't want you to interrupt me. I want you to just listen.”

Grantaire pulled away a little and looked at Enjolras skeptically. “What did you do?”

“I left work early yesterday and went to your school.”

“Enjolras! Why the fuck would you do something like-”

“R.” Enjolras pressed a finger over his mouth. “This is exactly what I asked you not to do. Please, let me explain.” He removed his finger, then reached down and clasped Grantaire's hands in his. “I wanted to make an appointment with your department head, but as luck would have it the dean happened to be available thanks to a no-show appointment. I told her exactly what happened to you, and told her about your anxiety and depression and history of panic attacks, and how as your roommate I witnessed the assignment wreak havoc on you psychologically. The dean was extremely upset on your behalf. She wants you to email her a copy of your paper, and you've got an appointment with her on Thursday. Your art history professor will be there as well, unfortunately, but so will your academic adviser. The dean promised me that at the very least she would do everything in her power to make sure you kept your scholarship and that you got to stay in school. And I'll go with you to the meeting and do most of the speaking, so don't worry about feeling anxious. I told you that none of this was fair. We'll get everything sorted out for you, I promise.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and touched a hand to his temple. “This can't be real. I'm still asleep.”

“It's real, R. You just need to fight for this, but it's like any other injustice. We can conquer it. I'll help you. You're going to be fine.”

“I suppose I don't actually notice if my mouth tastes like vomit when I'm asleep,” Grantaire mumbled, then winced when he realized he'd spoken that thought. Then, to keep Enjolras from thinking about what he'd just said he pressed on. “You're a fucking miracle, Enjolras. Thank you. You...I can't believe you did that.”

Enjolras looked inordinately pleased with himself. “Arguing with authority figures is actually something I'm really good at. If you're ever in trouble with school again, don't hesitate to call on me. At least, it's pretty easy when you're doing it on someone else's behalf. I wish I could sort out my own situation as easily.”

“You actually miss being in school, don't you?”

“Oh, I'd love to be working towards something concrete again instead of making fancy coffees for bored yuppies. If all goes well, I should be able to cut back on my hours once I make first, last, and security, and then I can take some night classes, at the very least.” Enjolras looked wistful for a moment, then he shook off the odd mood that had come over him. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Are you going to go back to bed?”

“Bathroom first, and then yeah. I was planning on skipping classes and using today for recovery anyway, and considering how much worse yesterday went than expected, I see no reason to alter this plan. What about you? When do you work?” According to Grantaire's alarm clock is was a little past seven, so it clearly wasn't an opening.

“I've got today off.” Enjolras fell back against the mattress and hugged a pillow to his chest. “And considering I just worked a stretch of fourteen days in a row, rest and recovery sounds good to me too.”

Grantaire clambered out of bed, did his business in the bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, and when he got back to his bedroom Enjolras was snuggled under the blankets on his side of the bed.

His side. When had that become a thing?

He'd half-expected Enjolras to retreat to the couch and was a bit conflicted about finding him still in bed. On the one hand, yay. On the other, it was getting to be a bit of tease, this platonically sharing a bed with the man of his dreams thing. Especially with Enjolras being so damn nice and considerate of him. A guy could start to get the wrong idea from behavior like that.

Kind of like all of Grantaire's friends, who were apparently laboring under the delusion that Enjolras cared for him.

Grantaire slunk onto his side of the bed, careful to maintain the respectful distance between him and Enjolras. Enjolras was facing him again, a small, warm, honest-to-god _smile_ on his face, not a hint of his usual grimace. “R? Do you feel any better?”

“Of course I do. You fucking saved me.” Grantaire snuggled under the blankets. He felt a bit giddy, now that the idea that he was not, in fact, doomed was starting to take root. He still had the scary-as-fuck meeting to get through, but Enjolras would be at his side. And Enjolras could accomplish wonders. Keeping Grantaire in school seemed a perfectly attainable goal for his considerable talents.

“I only returned the favor,” Enjolras said.

“Bullshit.” Grantaire propped himself up on an elbow. “I whined you into taking help that you didn't really want or particularly need. Like, yeah, I'm glad to help you any way I can, but at the end of the day we both know you're really strong and that you were going to get back on your feet and get that place with Feuilly no matter what happened. Don't even pretend me having you crash here is at all comparable to what you just did for me. Besides that, my motives were completely selfish.”

Enjolras' brow furrowed. “How so?”

“I...it's not obvious?”

“No, it's not. I wasn't even nice to you until I started staying here. I was actually pretty awful to you, and I'm sorry for that. I've been trying to make amends. But from what I can tell you're actually really selfless. You're always looking out for your friends, and I'd thought...I'd thought helping me was part of that. How was it selfish?”

Grantaire frowned and turned so that he was facing the wall. “Never mind. Let's just go back to sleep.”

“Grantaire...is it because we've gotten to spend more time together? That's not being selfish. It might be if I didn't want to be around you, but I do. I...what would be really selfish is if I continued this conversation right now, because I'm dangerously close to admitting something to you that I've been working really hard to keep to myself.”

Grantaire shrunk in on himself, arms hugged close to his side and knees sliding up the mattress. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the sound of Enjolras' voice, which was getting closer. He could feel the mattress shifting next to him, and then a hand resting lightly on his side.

“I have absolutely nothing to offer you right now, R. I have so little of myself to give it's ridiculous that I could even be thinking of this. I'm exhausted nearly every second of the day, and I'm a hard person to be close to under the best of circumstances and these are _not the best of circumstances_. I'll be short tempered and rude to you, and probably trigger your anxiety left and right with unthinking casual cruelty. I'll hate myself for it, of course, but that won't help you any. I know it's a terrible idea, but I can't help wanting to try anyway. The thing is, I've actually been pretty stupidly smitten with you for ages now. Almost since we met, actually. I just, I haven't known how to process any of it, and I'm sure I'd be terrible for you and getting to know you better has really only confirmed my fears. But I'm suffocating under my feelings now, and ignoring them hasn't helped anything. I know you used to have a crush on me, and I thought it was incredibly endearing, the way you tried to get over it because of how you thought I felt. You're such a good person, and so kind and thoughtful of those around you. I don't...I don't have that. I don't get other people, and I don't want my caustic manner to wound you more than it already has. Grantaire? I-I'm just going to keep going if you don't say something. I've been wanting to tell you how amazing you are for ages, and now that I've started…you really should tell me to shut up.”

“I don't know what to say,” Grantaire whispered. This was more unreal to him than not failing out of school.

“Do you still like me at all?” Enjolras' voice sounded nothing like himself and yet achingly familiar. Grantaire recognized the timidity tinged with hope, because it was much better suited to his own croaky voice.

“What kind of a question is that?” Grantaire rolled over so that he was facing Enjolras. “Of course I do. I need you like air, you fucking idiot. You're everything to me. You've been holding my heart in your hand since you waltzed into the Musain and called me a pervert.”

Enjolras' cheeks tinged faintly pink. “I'm really sorry about that.”

“Hey, you were right. I made an ass of myself checking you out, and then started to fall in love when I realized you were the whole package. Smart, fearless, committed to justice, and god, the way you've been describing yourself. You're a little dense sometimes, but you're not _cruel_. You're as careful about crossing the line as you can be for someone who doesn't usually see it. Don't think I haven't noticed how differently you treat, say, Bahorel and Prouvaire. You do take peoples' temperaments into account. You just don't hold back and let people get away with spouting bullshit. It's admirable, really. Everything about you is admirable. You're fucking amazing. God, now you need to tell me to shut up, because I've been holding back too. Don't think I haven't noticed how uncomfortable you get when anyone tries to flirt with you or anything. I'm pretty sure there's a very valid reason behind it, and I don't want to...that's a line I don't want to cross.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras stroked the side of his face. “At first, yes, your attentions did make me uncomfortable. But that didn't last very long at all. I feel so safe when I'm with you.”

“Really?” God, he hated how small his voice sounded.

Enjolras didn't seem to mind. “Yes. With everything that happened to me, I thought I'd never be able to share a bed with anyone. But I think I sleep soundest here, next to you.”

“Even though I snore?”

Enjolras leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was quick and chaste, a perfect rebuttal to Grantaire's confused attempt at deflection.

Enjolras settled onto his pillow, leaving about a breath between them. Under the blankets, he was holding Grantaire's hand, and he really did look very peaceful. There wasn't a hint of tension in Enjolras' posture or expression. That did more to convince Grantaire of his sincerity than words ever could.

He closed his eyes, and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

“R?”

Grantaire swatted blindly behind him, hoping to whack the bony finger that had just jabbed him in the shoulder. He missed, but his displeasure must have registered because the owner of the finger switched tactics. Grantaire rolled closer to the wall, pulling the blankets tightly around him. Then his hair was smoothed away from his neck and warm lips trailed kisses down his jawline and along his neck.

“Grantaire…?” Another kiss on his neck. “You're not going to stay in bed _all day_ , are you?”

“With you doing that?” Grantaire asked, voice groggy but feeling marginally more awake. “What the fuck makes you think I'm going to want to leave bed?”

Enjolras' laugh gave him goosebumps. “It's almost two o'clock. I've been up since nine waiting for you to be done sleeping in. I didn't know you'd meant it when you said you were going to spend the entire day recovering.”

“Eh, I guess I could be awake.” Grantaire turned so that he was facing Enjolras, and was momentarily dumbstruck by the smile waiting for him. The warmth in his voice was weird enough, but to see so many genuine _smiles_ , just for him. He'd honestly thought Enjolras incapable of looking like that. “Fuck, but you look good when you smile.”

“So do you.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, okay. I'll let you get away with that now because you're clearly fluffy from our conversation this morning, but for future reference you don't have to be reciprocal when I call you beautiful. I know what I look like.”

The smile slipped from Enjolras' face, replaced by the more familiar look of intensity and slight annoyance. “I know what you look like too. You're very attractive.”

“Enjolras, please don't.”

“Do you have any good thoughts about yourself? From what I've gathered, you think you're an awful person with a bad character, that your friends only put up with you out of obligation, you never recognize your own brilliance and completely downplay your abilities, and you also think you're ugly. Did I miss anything?”

“Correction.” Grantaire climbed out of bed and started for the bathroom. “I _know_ I'm ugly. Even if I couldn't already tell with the handy aid of reflective surfaces, there's the past twenty two years of social interaction with the outside world to clue me in. I'm pudgy, I've got hobbit-hair, my nose is crooked, my eyes are deep set, and I've got fucked up teeth. Again, you don't have to humor me. I _know_ it all already.”

Enjolras was waiting for him outside the bathroom door once he'd finished his business, arms crossed over his chest and with a speech prepared. “If you're okay with it then I will drop it, because I don't consider this a fight worth having. It's not like looks are something that can be helped, and society's emphasis on appearances has perpetuated harmful behaviors, exploitative economic practices, and mental suffering. That being said, if this relationship is going to have a physical element I think it's important for you to know that I do think you're very attractive. My desire to make you happy isn't actually stronger than my partiality for full honesty. I wouldn't lie to you just to make you feel better.”

“You a chubby chaser?”

“You've got a belly, Grantaire. A small one, which you explained as part of winter eating patterns. The rest of you is trim and muscular. Your hair is charmingly unkempt, your nose has character, as do the two crooked bottom teeth you have, and your eyes are nothing short of lovely. I will admit that they're deep set, but I also don't see what's wrong with that.”

Grantaire narrowed said deep-set eyes. “I don't understand your taste in men at all.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Likewise, I suppose.”

“Hey, I'm the one who's dating up in this situation.”

“Mm, us homeless misanthropes are in very high demand, from what I've heard.”

“Let's go out clubbing sometime and see how long it takes the natural blond with the perkiest ass to ever bless a pair of skinny jeans to get a phone number. Bet it happens way before the ogre with the drinking problem.”

“Were I interested in casual trysts I've no doubt I could do quite well for myself. However, I'm not. And...men don't tend to want to put up with me for extended periods of time. I'm...I guess too intense for most people.”

“Huh. Most people are dumb fucks.” Grantaire leaned against the doorway and studied Enjolras for a moment, who looked quite as uncomfortable and awkward as he usually felt himself. Maybe they really were on an equal footing here. “So have you never actually had a boyfriend before?”

“I've barely even been on any dates. I really have no idea what I'm doing.”

“Hm. Never done this before, and you're starting the game on the most difficult setting. Because seriously, mentally ill alcoholic is probably a bit much for a first relationship.”

“I'm aware. But I don't seem to have a choice in the matter. Just go as easy on me as you can, if you please. I really want this to work.” Enjolras bit his lip, eyes lowered. “I know I'm likely to screw up over and over and over again. I feel like I've done a terrible job supporting you even as a friend. I'm not great at friendships either, honestly. But I am trying, and if I'm more communicative...it should be okay, shouldn't it?”

“You're asking like the most pessimistic person ever. But yeah, from what I've heard communication is the biggie for relationships.” Grantaire shrugged. “I'll try my damndest to be sane for you. I want this to work too. I...uh, I don't really know how to describe this. I guess I feel really motivated right now, to try to be better for you. I want to be the kind of guy you deserve.”

“Grantaire...”

“Don't look at me like that, Enj. You know you deserve better than some sad sack who can't walk to the bathroom by himself past seven at night because he's too hammered to function.”

“That's not every night.”

“It's more nights than it should be.”

Enjolras nodded. “Fine. So what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

Enjolras took a step closer and Grantaire had to fight the urge to take a step back. “I mean, that all sounds reasonable, but unless that was just a means of further insulting yourself to me, you need to act on your intentions now. Are you going to work on your drinking problem?”

Grantaire lowered his gaze and started fidgeting, rubbing his thumb over a fingernail. “Sure. Been meaning to for ages anyway. It's been getting steadily worse and I really don't want to take it too far.”

“Okay, so how are you going to do it?”

“What do you mean?”

Enjolras made an exasperated noise. “You can't just say you're going to drink less. From what I've gathered, that's been a goal for you in the past and you haven't kept it. Are you going to check yourself into a program? Get therapy? Join AA? What's your plan?”

Grantaire swallowed, then started walking towards the kitchen. “My plan is to make a cup of coffee.”

“Grantaire, I'm being serious.”

“I think I need to sleep on this one.”

“You've just slept for like thirteen hours.”

“Mm hm.” Grantaire walked over to the coffee maker and reached for the tin he kept his shitty store brand coffee in. Enjolras lightly smacked his hand, nudged him out of the way, and started spooning in grounds from a bag of Musain coffee.

“I bought this for a reason.” He set the coffee maker, then turned and faced Grantaire. “I made you nervous already, didn't I? Shit...I knew I wouldn't be very good at this. Okay, let me try again.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then turned towards Grantaire again, his expression softer than his resting bitch face, but not nearly as relaxed. He looked worried. “Grantaire, I'm concerned about your drinking as well. I'm concerned about your overall mental health, and it's not...it's because I care about you and I want you to be happy. I want to help you. Would it be okay if I researched some programs to help with alcoholism?”

Grantaire looked down at his wringing hands and then slowly managed to raise his gaze until he could meet Enjolras' eyes. “You've got a lot on your plate already, don't you?”

“Yes, but this is important to me.”

“If...if you find anything good, then yeah, I'd like to hear about it. But I can...I can kinda only handle one big thing at a time without freaking out too badly. Right now I'm still kinda stuck on meeting with the evil professor and my academic adviser and the dean on Thursday. That's enough for now. Well, that and…”

Anticipating him, Enjolras grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope you don't find dating me as stress inducing as the school meeting or combating your alcoholism. But if that is the case, just tell me to fuck off when I've over-stepped. You've been very good about my boundaries. I ought to be doing the same with you.”

“First of all, no I haven't. And secondly I do not see it ending well if I were to tell you to fuck off. I think you'd eviscerate me if you were in the wrong kind of mood.”

“I'm giving you permission, R. And really you've been much better about my boundaries than you seem to realize. Mostly, I like to keep my space from people. I haven't really wanted to keep my space from you for quite a few months now.”

Grantaire blinked a few times. “Months? Y-you've liked me that long?”

Enjolras bit his lower lip. He looked a smidge embarrassed. “Yes, actually. And I was in denial about my feelings at first too. All things considered, I think I started liking you back sometime in late December.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I know. Even though I didn't think dating was a good idea, I did want to be friends. I was trying so hard to disabuse you of that notion but...I guess I made a bad first impression on you or something. And then I never seem to say the right thing. I tried so hard to fix things between us, but I know I kept making it worse.”

Grantaire's whole reality had just been called into question. Prouvaire and Feuilly were right; he hadn't been seeing _anything_ correctly.

Enjolras sounded just like him. He was insecure about slightly different things and doubting himself for different reasons, but the end results were pretty similar. They both felt like they weren't good enough for the boy they liked, despite assurances that they cared about each other.

Still amazed that it was okay for him to do so, Grantaire gave Enjolras a hesitant kiss. Enjolras' response was quite adorable. Even though the kiss lasted five seconds at most, his eyes had fluttered shut and he stood still in kind of a daze until the coffeemaker made a particularly loud gurgle that made him jump. Grantaire wanted to laugh at him, but with the insecurities Enjolras had just expressed he figured that wouldn't go over well, and he did his best to keep his mirth in check.

But his mood had cycled and now he was feeling giddy.

“R, are you okay?”

Grantaire grinned in response. “Over the moon. I get to kiss you now. Next time I get too pathetic just kiss me again. I think we can get a lot of use out of that trick. Like, even my broken brain won't develop a tolerance for this rush of happiness. I'm so fucking gone for you.”

“Well, likewise. It looks like your coffee's just about done.” He went for the cupboard to fetch a mug and immediately started adding cream and sugar to Grantaire's preference. Ignoring the part where Enjolras was a barista who took his coffee order several times a week, it was kind of sweet. “Um, I was thinking where neither of us has anything to do today-”

“Except rest and recover.”

“Yes, that. Well, maybe we could watch cooking shows for a little while?”

Sitting on the couch and snuggling went unsaid but Grantaire got the message anyhow.

A few minutes later, curled up against his beautiful blond who was actually paying attention to Cutthroat Kitchen and getting really into it, Grantaire found himself overwhelmed with a sense of contentment that was alien to him. He took a sip of coffee and resolved to do his best to suppress his anxiety to a manageable thrum and just enjoy the fucking moment. He'd had over twenty years of freak outs so far. He'd earned some contentment and snuggles.

* * *

Grantaire was supposed to have art history on Wednesday but he decided to blow it off. He knew it was irresponsible, but every time he imagined walking into the room his chest started aching in that familiar way that indicated an oncoming panic, and ultimately he had to accept that he just wasn't up to it.

He spent the forty five minutes in the library, attended his last class of the day, and then slunk to the Musain, feeling shitty and weak and ashamed of himself. If sitting through a lecture was too much for him, how the fucking hell was he supposed to get through the meeting the following day?

Then he walked into the Musain and saw Enjolras' face light up. He was looking at Grantaire like he was the sun, like he was worth a damn. Hell, he was looking at Grantaire the way Grantaire looked at him.

It was hard not to return the smile, at least a little. But as Enjolras was dealing with an increasingly impatient looking line, he was only able to wave before disappearing into the back room.

Bossuet and Bahorel were sitting at one end of the table, Prouvaire a few seats down with his homework spread out in front of him. Grantaire found, to his annoyance, that he had his friends' undivided attention. Bossuet and Bahorel immediately stopped talking when he sat down, and Prouvaire closed his laptop.

“How did it go?” Bahorel asked.

Grantaire felt lost. “How did what go?”

“Your paper!” Bossuet exclaimed. “Jesus, R. We spent all weekend helping you and then you disappeared off the face of the earth. We're all still in suspense. Did you pass? We were worried, dude. We were dead convinced we haven't seen you since Monday because the worst case scenario went down.”

“Oh.” Grantaire frowned, feeling like a shitty friend. He'd been too stressed out to answer all the text messages his friends had thrown at him, and it hadn't occurred to him that they'd be as invested as they were in his drama. If anything, he'd thought they might need a break from him and his bullshit. “It's, uh...complicated. I've got a meeting with the dean and a couple professors tomorrow, but Enjolras is going to help me sort it out. Um, speaking of Enjolras-”

“Don't change the subject, R. What the fuck is this meeting about?” Bahorel demanded. “Did the cow take your paper or what?”

“She had to. You worked so hard on that paper, Grantaire. You have to pass. It would be an injustice if you didn't,” Prouvaire said.

Grantaire slouched down in his seat. “Can we just wait for Courf and 'Ferre to get here so I don't have to go over everything again?”

“Feuilly might come by tonight too, but Jol's working at the nursing home after he gets out of class.” Bossuet let out a melodramatic sigh. “I fucking hate finals. Not only am I compelled to do actual work, but I don't get to see my baby, like, at all.”

“Cry me a fucking river.” Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“Am I to take it it didn't work out with that girl you were out on a date with last week?”

They fell into conversation about Bahorel's romantic woes, and while he was recounting his string of unsuccessful dates and eventual dumping by what had a seemed a promising potential girlfriend, the other members of their group trickled in. Grantaire tried once more to tell his friends about the change in the nature of his and Enjolras' relationship but everyone assumed he was trying to derail them from their focus on his paper and that it was just going to be more of his pining, and so he was forced to give them the details of his first meeting with his professor and the accusation of plagiarism.

Everyone got so upset on his behalf that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Courfeyrac and Bahorel were going back and forth with some increasingly disturbing threats to his professor's well being when Enjolras approached the tables for his fifteen. He placed a mug of coffee in front of Grantaire, a chocolate chunk cookie at his elbow, took the seat next to him and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. “I was wondering when you were going to get here.”

Courfeyrac, who had been mid-creative-threatening, made a sound kind of like a balloon losing its air. He pointed at Enjolras and Grantaire, mouth moving and nothing coming out.

Grantaire scowled. “I was trying to tell you guys but you kept cutting me off.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “You didn't tell them first thing?”

“They wouldn't let me.”

“Oh. Well I'm glad I got to be here for it then. Considering everyone supposedly knew we liked each other, your facial expressions right now are priceless.”

“We all knew you liked each other but _you_ both had your heads up your asses about it,” Bahorel said. “So what changed?”

“Dunno, but I'm trying to count my blessings on this,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras gave his hand a squeeze. “My feelings reached a point where I couldn't ignore them anymore. Besides that, Grantaire's been very patient with my shortcomings so far. I'm cautiously optimistic about this. I know our circumstances aren't perfect, but...” He was cut off by the entire group basically congratulating them at the same time. Grantaire had to guess that that's what they were trying to say, anyway, because everyone looked pretty happy. It was hard to know for sure since they were all talking over each other.

At least Enjolras looked as flustered as he felt. In fact, his grip on Grantaire's hand was starting to get painful. “Guys, can you take it down a notch?” Grantaire asked. He'd rather not Enjolras spend his entire fifteen turning gradually more magenta, though he was fricking adorable when he blushed.

“In summary, we're very happy for you,” Courfeyrac said with a laugh.

“Also, fucking finally,” Feuilly added.

Enjolras kicked his shin. “You're a jerk.”

“A jerk who was right about everything,” Feuilly corrected. He reached down and started rubbing his shin. “Also, that was uncalled for.”

“I didn't mean to kick that hard. Sorry.”

Grantaire would have liked to give Enjolras' hand a gentle squeeze, but as Enjolras' grip was vice-like it wasn't actually physically possible. “You okay?” he asked, as quietly as possible since it was clear all the attention was making Enjolras uncomfortable.

“Fine. It's just been a long day,” Enjolras said. “I'm greatly looking forward to punching out and heading back to your place. Do you want to watch some more Cutthroat Kitchen tonight?”

“You're out at nine, right?” They could probably squeeze in a few episodes.

“Um, not anymore. I had to switch a shift with Louison so I could get your meeting off tomorrow, so now I'm closing.”

“Oh. I was hoping to be in bed by eleven. I've got a class before the meeting.”

“Oh.” Enjolras frowned. “Okay then. I'll try not to wake you when I get in.”

“Eh, I want to be in bed by eleven. You know how my broken brain works. Check when you get in. If it's an insomnia night then we can cuddle and watch cooking shows.”

“I'll keep my fingers crossed for you being asleep.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. “I've got to get back to work. If nothing else, I'll see you tomorrow for the meeting.”

“Yeah, see you later.” Grantaire watched him head back to the other room, wearing a dazed smile he knew his friends were going to give him shit for.

“So...three couples now. Something's in the air,” Bossuet said.

Courfeyrac started tapping his fingers against the table. “I'd like to catch whatever's in the air.”

“That reminds me.” Feuilly took his phone out and opened a text. “I was in the middle of a conversation with Rose when I was on the bus.”

“Four couples?” Bahorel slammed his hand on the table. “This is ridiculous. You guys are being terrible friends. You ought to be helping us out.”

“Wait, so are you and Rose being exclusive with each other now? Feuilly?” Grantaire tried to lean across the table to poke his friend's shoulder, but Feuilly edged away from him and continued furiously texting.

“Bahorel, you do realize that by hanging out with mostly queer boys your odds of meeting available heterosexual women aren't exactly the greatest?” Bossuet teased.

“What about fag hags?”

Prouvaire slapped a hand over his face. “Honestly, Bahorel, what about them? Do we _look_ like the shopping buddy type? I think your queer stereotypes need to be updated for the twenty first century.”

“Oooh, you know you hit a nerve when Prouvaire's telling you off,” Grantaire said with a grin.

Bahorel leaned his elbows on the table and let out a long, melodramatic sigh. “This sucks.”

“Seconded,” Courfeyrac said, though with only half of his attention on the group conversation. The rest of it was focused on the handsome barista clearing tables across the room.

So that was still a thing. Grantaire made a mental note to keep an eye on that, as he could see it blossoming into a spectacular problem if it went unchecked. Courfeyrac didn't usually stay focused on one person like this, especially if they were unavailable. It was odd, for him to be so fixated on Pontmercy. It was possible Courfeyrac had developed real feelings for his friend, and much as Grantaire had been getting sick of Courfeyrac's frivolous, irksome romantic entanglements and had been hoping he might fix his attention on one person at a time, that would only be less dramatic if the one person had a chance of liking him back. The last thing he'd wanted was to see Courfeyrac dissolve into the pathetic pining he'd been engaging in himself.

* * *

The meeting was incredibly anti-climactic, and honestly kind of boring.

The art history professor seemed to realize she'd been caught behaving incredibly inappropriately to a student based on an unprofessional grudge and had shown up in defensive mode, deflecting accusations and trying to make it out as though Grantaire had misinterpreted nearly everything she'd said. She didn't directly state that these misinterpretations were caused by his mental illness (undocumented, self-diagnosed mental illness, she managed to sneak in at least a couple of times), but she strongly implied it. Unfortunately, Grantaire had been alone with her every time they'd spoken, so he couldn't really deny the possibility that he'd spun everything she'd said in the worst way possible. That was right out of his broken brain's playbook, after all.

His academic adviser came prepared to fight for him. The tiny little man walked into the dean's office weighed down with massive binders of records on Grantaire's work, including statements from other professors attesting to his work ethic, creativity, and drive. The dean had only given the statements a passing glance, which was a bit disappointing because Grantaire was incredibly interested in them. He'd always assumed his professors had noticed him phoning his assignments in and were as frustrated with his under-performing as he was himself. Apparently they quite liked him and were impressed with his work.

In the end, all Grantaire really had to do was sit there and make eye contact. Enjolras covertly squeezed his hand whenever he started to get agitated, but remained quiet himself. At the end of the twenty minute meeting, it had been established that Grantaire's art history requirement was going to be switched to an independent study, the paper would constitute his grade, and that he'd definitely passed. He was signed up for counseling sessions through health services, and his adviser scheduled a meeting with him to talk about submitting the paper for the undergraduate research seminar (which was Enjolras' suggestion). The art history professor was let off with a warning to actually check a paper over before she leveled an accusation as serious as plagiarism against it, and to be mindful of giving assignments that could cause undue stress in her students.

Enjolras was obviously upset about the lack of consequences, something he expressed when they were getting a snack from the dining commons. Grantaire shrugged. “She's got tenure. Really, I'm surprised the dean was as hard on her as she was.”

“She wasn't punished! At all.”

“She has a written warning. That's better than I expected. Besides, the important part is I'm still in school. And apparently my professors don't think I'm a lazy sack of shit.”

“Well, you're not. Your portfolio is impressive and your papers could easily be submitted for publication.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and reached for his soda. “I think you're a bit biased here. I usually shit those papers out the night before they're due, even when I get a reasonable amount of time to work on them.”

“Grantaire, just because something comes to you easily doesn't mean it's not impressive work.”

He didn't want to admit that he'd never considered it that way before, so Grantaire took a slow sip of his soda and went to work destroying his buffalo chicken wrap, all the while quietly considering Enjolras' words. It was an odd idea, the possibility that he was actually just good at something.

Well, in the grand scheme of things, being talented at academic writing wouldn't get him very far. That cynical thought was comforting enough to get him back into conversation with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. That thought still made him giddy. He wondered when that was going to wear off or if he'd just never get used to Enjolras being his boyfriend.

“I'm glad we got you signed up for counseling sessions today too. That's something big off my to-do list,” Enjolras continued, nibbling here and there off of his own wrap. “I've only Googled a few programs so far, but maybe the health services counselor will have some input about treating your alcohol dependency.”

Grantaire made a non-committal noise.

Enjolras frowned at him. “The big scary meeting is over and it went smoothly. I'd thought it was okay to talk about the next intimidating goal now. Should I wait?”

“At least until tomorrow morning, if you could.”

He nodded. “That's fair. You're...rather quiet. I was hoping getting the meeting out of the way would make you less anxious. Um...are you feeling any better?”

“Hm?” Grantaire stared at Enjolras as something occurred to him. He himself was pretty good at reading Enjolras' moods, but it seemed Enjolras had a long way to go in reading his. “Enj, it's a good thing when I'm quiet. I chatter more when I'm nervous. I fill silences when I need to deflect from my over-thinking and anxiety, or when I need to distract everyone by being a clown so they won't notice what a loser I am. If I'm quiet, I'm comfortable.”

“Oh.” Enjolras' eyes widened. “Oh, that makes so much more sense.” He visibly brightened, which was not the reaction Grantaire had expected at all. “I was starting to get worried,” he explained, “because lately when we've been alone together you've been so reticent. I was worried the transition from friendship to dating was freaking you out.”

“Oh. Actually, no.” Grantaire reached across the table and took Enjolras' hand in his. “No one's more surprised than me about it, but I feel really good right now. Hanging with you one on one is the calmest I've ever been. I feel like a real person, for once.”

Enjolras beamed at him. It was the most vibrant expression of happiness Grantaire had ever witnessed from him, the complete opposite of his resting bitch face. “Me too. I feel so safe with you, Grantaire. I wish I'd spoken up about my feelings earlier. This is the happiest I've ever been.”

Grantaire wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he gave Enjolras' hand another squeeze and went back to eating his wrap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm not sure when the next update will come. Probably after Halloween. I've been working all the overtime hours I can get, which doesn't leave much time or energy for writing.
> 
> Or responding to comments, but thank you to everyone who commented on the previous chapter! I read them and I do really appreciate you taking the time to do so <3


	9. Chapter 9

Grantaire had never had such a restful night of sleep in his life. When he drifted off, he was warm and cozy, curled towards Enjolras in bed but not touching. The odd, unexamined contentment that had come with the new relationship was doing wonders for his insomnia. Grantaire was too much of a pessimist to think it might be a long term fix, but he was genuinely enjoying the sleep while it lasted.

The couple drifted off with almost deliriously happy smiles on their faces, and when Grantaire woke up he was in much the same position, not having fitfully tossed around the bed like usual. Enjolras was already awake, and he was still smiling.

Because Grantaire was Grantaire and he couldn't stay focused on anything that made him too happy, he idly wondered when Enjolras would revert to his resting bitch face.

“Good morning,” Enjolras whispered.

“Morning,” Grantaire answered. “How long have you been awake and staring at me like a creeper?”

He'd expected Enjolras to take exception to that, but still he went on smiling. “Not very long. At least, I don't think it's been long. I know you're trying to tease me but honestly I'm very comfortable so I didn't see any point in moving. Besides, I like looking at you. And it's okay now, isn't it?”

“Course it's okay. I just don't see why you'd want to.” Grantaire stretched his legs a little bit and wiggled his toes. Enjolras was right, though. From what he could tell with his back to the window, it was cold and wet outside. He could hear the rain and a fair bit of wind that gave the windows an occasional rattle. Slumbering under the covers with the company of a gorgeous blond was far preferable to venturing anywhere.

He still couldn't quite grasp Enjolras' perspective but then, he probably never would. By rights, he should have wanted to flee Grantaire's snoring and morning breath, if nothing else.

Enjolras trailed the pads of his fingers down the side of Grantaire's face in a hesitant, shaky movement. “You like looking at me, don't you? Why shouldn't I want to look at you?”

Ugh, not that shit again. He really wanted Enjolras to give the looks thing a rest. “C'mon, you're going to make it sound like I'm fishing for compliments and I'm not. But you're actually possibly the prettiest guy alive, so of course I'd want to look at you. Fucking Antinous, you are. I could see making an empire worship your beauty.”

“...I still have no idea how to respond to you when you talk about me like that.” The smile lessened in intensity. Grantaire would have been worried if it were a normal guy, but unless his mental illness got in the way he didn't tend to misinterpret Enjolras' facial expressions (his words were, of course, a completely different matter). Enjolras' face didn't tend to synch up with what most peoples' expressions indicated. His happier expressions were all rather subdued, except the weird mushy smiles he'd been wearing on and off since confessing his feelings. At the moment, he looked content. On another person that same expression might indicate boredom or even displeasure.

Grantaire snatched Enjolras' hand and twined their fingers together. “I tried really hard to stop telling you you're pretty and it didn't work. I'm so fucking enamored of you it's pathetic, and every time I look at you it all just bubbles up and out again. And you like me back. I'm still stuck on that. It's incredible.”

“Is it? I was so sure I was being obvious.”

“Maybe, but remember where my self-esteem is.”

“True enough. Well, now that I've told you I don't want to ever stop saying it. I'm pretty well enamored myself and just...keeping it to myself was killing me. I like that I get to say it now.” Enjolras looked down at their joined hands. “I've never wanted to call out of work more than I do right now.”

“Oh fuck, you have to work today? You should definitely call out.”

“R...”

“Come on, I'm sick. I'm still recovering from that mess with the paper.” Which was definitely a stretch, but he had some residual anxiety from the meeting and a follow up phone call to check in with his parents. “As a good boyfriend, you should stay home and take care of me and cuddle me until I feel better.” He tried flashing some puppy eyes, but clearly he wasn't up to Joly's ability because it just made the two of them laugh.

For some reason they kept laughing, even though it really wasn't that funny. Grantaire ended up breathless, wrapped tightly in Enjolras' arms. He wasn't even aware of rolling across the bed. And then Enjolras was kissing his temple and once more lamenting that he had to get up soon.

“Just stay with me,” Grantaire whispered.

“I'd love nothing better, but I have to go to work. You'll come visit though, won't you?”

“Enj, I practically live at the Musain. Why would today be any different?”

“I don't know.” Enjolras pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze. Grantaire leaned up and bumped their noses together. “Everything just feels different now.”

“Good though, yeah? You're not...having second thoughts?”

“Of course not.” He spoke up quickly and yes, there was the passion Grantaire liked to see. The last vestiges of sleepiness had faded entirely, and though the warm and fuzzy side of Enjolras had been pleasant in its own way, the more familiar ready-to-take-on-the-world Enjolras had undeniable appeal, tried and tested with time.

“Just so you know, you can back out any time,” Grantaire said, because he couldn't stop himself from riling Enjolras up.

“I'm not going to change my mind, R. I'm mad about you. It's been killing me, trying to do the noble thing and keep my distance. I don't think I'd be capable of pretending I don't have these feelings when I very clearly do. Not anymore. Why? You haven't changed _your_ mind, have you?”

“God no.” Grantaire laughed. “That's not...that's so far removed from being a thing. It's pathetic, how gone for you I am. I think if you really understood how intense this is you'd be running far, far away instead of cuddling me close and telling me all this pretty sounding bullshit. Like, I still think you dating me is a very bad idea for you, but it's a fucking dream come true for me. I might be able to wrap my mind around it someday though.”

“I'll just have to keep telling you how amazing I think you are until you believe it, I suppose.” Enjolras kissed his cheek. “I guess it's a good thing I like talking about it. Almost as much as talking about oppression.”

“That much, huh? You must be really gone for me.”

The stupidly happy warm and fuzzy smile returned. “I am, R. I really am.”

Grantaire couldn't help it. His smile must have looked unforgivably sappy. “Ditto. And I think you actually should call out of work.”

“Grantaire...”

“You haven't called out once since you've been there. They can lose you for a day. We should stay home and cuddle. Besides, look at the rain. You don't want to go out in that.”

“It's a two minute walk. I'll live.”

“Enj...”

“Just come to work with me, like you always do. I'll spend my breaks with you and give you lots of coffee and cookies. And then we can cuddle together after my shift, okay?”

“I guess. Since you're not giving me a choice.”

Enjolras gave him a tight squeeze and then reluctantly disentangled himself and crawled out of bed. “Go back to sleep, R. Just because I have to be up early doesn't mean you have to.”

“I'll doze a little more after you leave.”

“I'm just going to shower and pack a lunch. You aren't going to miss anything exciting.”

“It's all exciting right now.”

Enjolras gave his head a little shake, somehow managing to look put upon and exuberantly happy at the same time. He gathered up his clothes for the day, eyes repeatedly darting towards Grantaire, who watched him like a hawk until he left the room. He did fall asleep again while Enjolras was in the shower, but he woke up when he felt warm lips softly grazing his forehead. “Mm?”

“I'm leaving now. Rest well. Are you going to any classes today?”

“Yeah. If I keep blowing them off I'll just stress myself out again. Course, if you've rethought calling out of work...”

Enjolras answered that with a light smack to his arm. “Come and visit me after classes then.”

“Of course. Honestly, that goes without saying. Have a good shift, okay?”

“Ugh, hopefully. Goodbye, R. See you later.” One more quick kiss and then Enjolras was gone. Grantaire listened to the floorboards lightly creak under his soft tread, and was back to sleep by the time Enjolras was shutting the door behind him.

* * *

“Do you still have that strange boy living in your apartment?”

Grantaire indulged in an eye roll and flipped off the ceiling, glad he was having this conversation over the phone rather than in person and was thus able to blow off some steam without it coming back on him. He still didn't really have anything to say to that though.

“Yeah, Mom. Enjolras is staying here.”

“Well how long are you going to keep him on your couch?”

He stretched out his legs, tangling his toes in the sheets and smiling to himself. He still hadn't made the bed, but he'd moved Enjolras' pillow from the couch into the bedroom. “He's just staying here until he can move in with Feuilly. It's not a big deal. He works all the time so he's barely even here.”

“He should be paying rent.”

“Then it'll take him longer to move out. I was trying to do him a favor. Sorry though. I guess I should have talked to you and Dad about it first, huh?”

“Oh gee, you think?” She sounded more amused than upset, which was encouraging. His father had been outright pissed so he actually did need his mother on his side. She'd talk his dad down if need be.

“I dunno, I was just kinda glad to get a roommate. It's...y'know, it's so quiet on my own. It's nice to have somebody to talk to. And when I get overwhelmed, he's been making me coffee and keeping me on track with my homework and stuff. I never would have gotten through that fiasco with art history if he hadn't helped me out.”

“He seems like a nice enough boy. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to him at Christmas time, of course, but he was well mannered. Sweetheart, you do understand why we were upset with you, don't you? It wasn't anything to do with Enjolras. It's because we're the ones paying your bills and you didn't even ask. You just shirked your schoolwork, panicked over money, and then told us after the fact that someone else was counting on us paying your bills.”

“...sorry?”

“Oh Grantaire, what are we ever going to do with you?”

“Love me because you have to? Mom, I really am sorry. I know I handled that all like shit. But it worked out okay. I'm, um...I passed art history and they want me to present the paper I wrote at some big conference. I think I can put that on my resume when I'm job hunting, so that should make Dad happy. Maybe.”

“Sweetheart, he still thinks he's going to convince you to switch majors and study to be an accountant. And before you get petulant with me, I already know that's not where your heart is. Now, the last time we spoke you sounded awfully stressed out. I'm glad to hear you're feeling better. When the semester finishes up, you should come home for another visit. And you can bring Enjolras with you again if you want. It seems this is a young man we could stand to get to know a bit better.”

Grantaire frowned. “Uh...I guess?”

“Well it sounds like he's important to you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, he is. We're good friends.”

“Mm hm. Okay, I didn't want to come right out and say it, but I feel like this is the responsible thing to do as your parent. You are using protection, right honey?”

“Argh! Ugh.” He hung up the phone and tossed it at the foot of his bed. “Nope. You didn't want to give me the sex talk when I was a kid and you are damn well not doing it now. Nope, nope, nope!” He made an X with his fingers, then jumped out of bed and went to stare out his window.

The rain had only increased in intensity. He pulled a face, more tempted than ever to skip class and hang in with Netflix and his sketchbook. But he'd just gotten out of one academic disaster and really couldn't afford to heap another onto his plate, so that called for real pants and a trip through the rain to school. He usually walked to avoid dealing with traffic and the shit parking situation at his school, but not in that downpour.

His phone was buzzing again by the time he was ready to go. He absently accepted the call while he was looking for his keys.

“Hey shithead.”

Oh god, his sister. That must have been on his mother's orders.

“Hi, Rose. Can you be quick? I'm on my way out the door.”

“That depends. Are you going to be evasive or will you just answer a simple question to get Mom off my back?”

“I'm not fucking Enjolras.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. “Kay, so that's actually not what Mom wanted me to ask you, but thanks, I guess.”

“Sorry. The last thing she said to me before I hung up was about protection, so I just assumed-”

“Hey, I assumed if the two of you got there it'd be the other way around anyway. You know, he just doesn't seem like a bottom to me.”

“Yeah, well from what I've gathered your knowledge of gay relationships comes strictly from girly romance manga.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“Mom didn't say fucking, but she thinks there's something going on with you two, and I got those vibes off you guys too, and Feuilly even said-”

“Feuilly talked to you about us? That fucking traitor!”

“Grantaire, will you calm the fuck down? We just want to know if you're dating. Jesus Christ. Mom said she'll happily work on Dad to keep your boyfriend from ending up in a homeless shelter, but if it's just some pretty boy taking advantage of your crush she wants him out of the apartment ASAP.”

“What?”

“I know. Like you'd let a guy live on your couch just because you've got a crush on him. I mean, I know you're pretty easy to manipulate, but you've got _some_ backbone, right? Look, the point is, Mom's worried about you and she doesn't want to see you get taken advantage of or get hurt or anything. But she knows you don't talk about your boyfriends and stuff, so if it's a legit relationship then whatever. I guess.”

“I have to get to class.”

“Grantaire, will you answer the god damn question? Because if Mom doesn't get to work on Dad, he's going to get nasty. He doesn't want to pay for a freeloader. Mom can help. And Enjolras sounds like a cool guy. I don't want Dad going after him.”

“Look, we weren't dating before but we...urgh, it's just been for like two days. I'd like the family to not destroy this for me.”

“Cool. We should double. I'm going to be up to visit Feuilly this weekend. Let's grab dinner and a movie.”

“I've got schoolwork.”

“You're a shitty liar. I'll text you after I look up movie times. Have a good class, dingus.” She hung up on him, leaving Grantaire with the unpleasantly familiar sensation of his childhood that his older sister had once more gotten the upper hand on him.

His phone quietly buzzed in his pocket several times during his lectures. He really was trying to be a better student and pay more attention so he did his best to ignore it. After class, absolutely drenched and sitting in his car with the heat turned up and the vents facing him, he was able to check his phone and counted seven new text messages from his mother. She was just figuring out emoticons so the first three messages were different combinations of hearts and little happy faces. There was some babbling about him growing up, a worrying amount of repetitions of the term late-bloomer, and as a fitting culmination to the discomfort, an invitation for him and Enjolras to join the family for dinner at their nearest convenience.

“Fucking hell. God, almost as much nope as the attempted sex talk. I already brought Enjolras for dinner. I am not repeating that mess.” He tossed his phone onto the seat and drove to the Musain.

While he was there Rose started texting him movie times. He silenced his phone and irritably shoved it back in his pocket, so of course within minutes Feuilly's phone started blowing up. Grantaire shot him an irritated look. “What happened to being too poor for Musain coffees?”

Feuilly's face fell and Grantaire immediately felt like a jack ass. “Enjolras has been splitting his comped coffees with me, if you must know. Also, bite me. My spending habits are none of your business. Rose is going to be picking us up at seven, by the way.”

“Feuilly, I don't want to go on a double date with my sister.”

“I don't want to go on a double date with Enjolras. I've gathered that we don't have much of a choice in this though. Your family's kind of nosy, aren't they?”

“Yeah, they get pretty invested in other peoples' business.” Grantaire scowled and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about the coffee thing. I shouldn't have...shit, dude. You know I'd spot like all the coffees to keep you hanging out with us, right?”

“I know. Enjolras spun it as a favor though. He says if he has too much caffeine he gets jittery, so one a shift is enough, and since he's been working so many doubles lately...”

Grantaire nodded. Formerly, he had appreciated Enjolras' heavy work schedule as it had given him more opportunities to see his crush. Now that he no longer needed the excuse, and that the workplace inhibited things like snuggling and sneaking the occasional kiss, he rather resented all the doubles Enjolras worked.

They were once more in the midst of finals, so conversation at the tables wasn't exactly plentiful. Combeferre and Prouvaire's concentration was so focused on their schoolwork that they didn't spare a thought for cutesy couple interactions, which was a bit refreshing because watching them study-snuggle had become saccharine enough to be vomit-inducing (never mind the fact that Grantaire was becoming a huge fan of cuddling himself – but that was completely different. He and Enjolras cuddled in the privacy of Grantaire's apartment). The less devout nerds were making half-hearted attempts at getting some studying done, and Feuilly was happily reading through some depressing looking tome on global injustice, interspersed with texts from Rose.

Grantaire, as part of his new goal to be the hardworking student his academic adviser and a fair few of his professors already seemed to believe him, set to work on one of his take-home finals. He didn't have an actual reason to leave it to the last minute. As happened when he did work on his essays the night before they were due, the answers flowed easily enough into his word file, and he was tempted to assume his efforts were half-assed for that reason alone. After banging out his third essay without referring to his notes or readings, he finally asked Feuilly to skim over his response and see what he thought.

“Your grammar's a little sloppy, but I assume you're going to clean that up before you hand it in.”

“Yeah, I wasn't asking about the grammar. Supporting arguments look good?”

“Dude, it's fine. I mean, I'm not an expert on working class early America, but I think you've argued your case really well. I'd just rethink the comma placement.”

“Now by working class early America, are you referring to agricultural workers and sailors or enslaved people?” Enjolras asked, startling Grantaire by sliding into the open seat next to him.

“If I was talking about slaves I'd just say sla...so how many lattes would you say you're wearing right now?”

Enjolras scowled and held up four fingers. Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. That was bad, even for a shift with Pontmercy, who had a tendency to get distracted and walk into his coworkers. “You want me to run home and grab you a change of clothes?”

“Oh, that didn't occur to me. Hm...no, I don't think it'd be worth it. He's probably going to get me again at least a couple more times before the end of my shift. His head is completely up his ass tonight. If he didn't bring in the best tips I'd ask not to be scheduled with him so much.”

“Does Marius...spill drinks on you a lot?” Prouvaire asked. Enjolras' only answer was a scowl that made him retreat into the nearest book.

Enjolras usually made every effort to be civil to Prouvaire, since his shyness spooked him so easily in social situations. He also tried not to bitch about work around his friends, since they counted as customers and he considered that unprofessional. Grantaire had only become privy to the bitching when they became roommates.

He must have been having a particularly awful night.

“How much longer is your shift?”

“I'm out at nine, thank god, so I'm not closing. But I am opening tomorrow, and since Marius and Eponine are closing alone I'm going to have to clean up their mess while dealing with the morning rush. I'm trying to get as many tasks done for them as possible before I leave, but it's rather difficult with Marius scalding me with steamed milk every fifteen minutes and Eponine running into the walk-in every five minutes to sulk.”

Grantaire frowned. “What's up with Eponine?” He'd only spoken to the Musain's newest barista a handful of times but he'd rather liked her. He found her much more personable than her younger sister, Azelma, who was distant to the point of rudeness. Both girls weaseled out of their tasks and left them for their coworkers, so Enjolras disliked them on principle, but Grantaire found sass and snark to be redeeming qualities that could help him overlook some laziness (besides, Eponine's laziness didn't directly impact him).

“Ugh...it's just stupid drama. Marius is hung up on some girl that isn't her, so she's acting like it's the end of the world. You know how teenagers are.”

“Mm,” Combeferre said sagely. “You must too, since you were one last year.”

Enjolras flipped him off. “I was never like _her._ ”

Feuilly cracked up at that, with such loud, barking laughs that the rest of the table and a few complete strangers in the room turned to look at them. “Sorry, but Enjolras...you _cannot_ get pissy at your coworker for being hung up on a guy and claim some kind of moral high ground. Your denial didn't make your pining any less pathetic, and it went on for _months_! Lay off the poor kid. At least she's like sixteen. It's more excusable in a sixteen year old girl than a prissy activist who claims to be above such things.”

Enjolras' face was starting to turn red, whether from embarrassment or anger was hard to tell. Taking pity on him, Grantaire tried to deflect (which also helpfully drew his own attention from the continued assertion of the group that Enjolras had found him to be worth pining over). “Eponine's not sixteen, she's seventeen. You're thinking of Azelma.”

“Wait, they're really that young? Doesn't that mean they're supposed to be punched out by ten?”

“Hm?” Enjolras blinked a few times, then snatched Grantaire's laptop from him and did a search on labor laws in their state. “Son of a bitch. Well, I guess I can't trade shifts with them anymore. No wonder Nick's scheduling me so many closings. I keep asking him not to have me work a closing the night before an opening, and he said he's got to work with the staff he has.”

“He should hire some more adults then. I can't believe he hasn't noticed he's breaking the law,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras shook his head. “Nick isn't. The schedule's always compliant. We've just been trading shifts around. I didn't know they weren't supposed to be working closings. I guess I'm staying late tonight. Least I can get those closing tasks finished.”

“Enjolras, you don't have to stay late. You were out of the apartment by like nine this morning. That's already a double without throwing a closing onto it,” Grantaire said. “It's not your responsibility.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It's a sensible law though. They've probably got school or something. They shouldn't be closing.”

“I sincerely doubt the Thenardier girls are attending school,” Feuilly said. “Enj, Grantaire's right. You're already really over-working yourself. I think you should punch out when you were originally planning to and then just not trade anymore shifts with them.”

Everyone took up Feuilly's arguments but were unsuccessful in their attempts to sway Enjolras. When his fifteen was over, he returned to the counter and had a quick discussion with Eponine. Grantaire watched from the doorway, just out of sight of the folks in the main room, and saw Eponine try to put up a fight. Then Marius walked by, her eyes filled with tears, and she retreated for the walk-in. Grantaire was sure she'd be punching out at ten, and that Enjolras would continue working through the cafe's eleven o'clock close and the forty five minutes' worth of closing tasks that followed.

He went back to the table and started packing up his things. “Where are you off to?” Feuilly asked.

“Getting Enjolras a change of clothes and a real supper. Stubborn asshole just bullied Eponine into punching out by ten. She's probably going to be out the door at nine, like he was supposed to be.”

Feuilly grinned. “It's so nice to have someone else looking after him too. It used to be just me and Joly running around trying to keep him from working himself to death, and even then Joly's not terribly helpful because he responds to Enjolras' glares, and he's always so busy himself. Seriously, R, this relationship might be one of the best things that's ever happened to me.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Wait...was Enjolras working himself to the bone even before he was homeless?”

“Yep. But back then it wasn't a shitty low wage service job. He was working with his school's GSA, and volunteering with the city's LGBT youth group, and organizing demonstrations and things like that. He's just a workaholic, R. Being financially stable doesn't change things. You're always going to have to trick him into eating and sleeping.”

“Oh...fucking fantastic.”

Feuilly was still giggling at his expense when he exited the Musain.

* * *

 

It took some effort, but Grantaire managed to get Enjolras to accept the change of clothes and eat some real food. He lingered around the Musain until it closed, so Enjolras let him sit in the back while he finished his closing tasks. It gave him a pretty decent view of lovesick Marius dazedly walking to Courfeyrac's car, paying more attention to his phone than passing objects. Courfeyrac looked to be taking the budding romance better than Eponine, albeit not by much. Grantaire made a mental note to text him over the weekend and see if he wanted to hang out.

Enjolras leaned against Grantaire heavily for the short walk home. He immediately collapsed on the couch and let out a groan. “My legs feel like they're on fire. I put away the entire shipment by myself _and_ I crouched down to scrub the milk rack clean.”

“You said you're opening tomorrow?”

“Yes. So I probably shouldn't shower, even though hot water on my legs sounds heavenly right now. I need to go to bed.” He gave his legs a feeble kick. “I should take my shoes off.”

“Mm. And the coat too. Enj...y'think maybe you should call out tomorrow? This isn't like me whining because I just wanted to snuggle you for hours. I'm actually concerned this time.”

“It's fine. It's a short shift tomorrow. Just five thirty to...um. I think four?”

“That's not a short shift, Enjolras.”

“No, I suppose not.” He closed his eyes. “I'm really tired but I don't want to move. Can you sit here with me for a sec please?”

“Of course. I'm going to help you with your shoes first though.” Grantaire sat down on the far end of the couch and tugged off Enjolras' sneakers. He rubbed Enjolras' poor calves for a minute or so, not sure if it was accomplishing much through the unrelenting fabric of the skinny jeans, then got up and went to the other side of the couch. A moment later, Enjolras was draped over his lap and Grantaire had the pleasure of combing his fingers through the bewitching golden hair he'd been admiring for so long. It was possibly the softest, most silken thing he'd ever touched.

“How was class?” Enjolras' words were slurred more than Grantaire's on a heavy drinking day.

“Not too bad. We're only meeting one more time besides finals, and then I'm free until the fall. Combeferre and Prouvaire are taking summer courses again, the workaholics. I don't understand how they haven't already graduated. They must have enough credits for it.”

“They're double majoring and tacking on extra minors. Besides, they like being students. Thanks for taking my shoes off. You really didn't have to. I'm sure the aroma wasn't pleasant.”

“Actually, you don't seem to stink as much as a guy in your situation ought to. You just smell like coffee. I could easily sit here until dawn petting you and telling you how pretty you are, but we should probably get you to bed. Especially if you're going to be a stupid ass and go to work tomorrow.”

“Need the money.”

“Ah huh.” Grantaire helped tug the sleepy workaholic upright and prodded him towards the bedroom. “That's not technically true at the moment. My folks know you're here and my mom is okay with it. She's very good at handling Dad, so you can really think of this as your home now. There's no rush to move out.”

“There is. Feuilly's lease is up in June. I don't have that much more time to get my first, last, and security together.”

“I honestly don't understand how you haven't saved it up already with these monster shifts.”

Rather than answer, Enjolras trailed off with some vague sounding tired noises. Grantaire scowled, and decided to pester him about finances at some point in the near future. He gathered up some clean pajamas, shoved them into Enjolras' arms, and pointed him towards the bathroom. Once the door closed, Grantaire quickly changed into his own pajamas and then went down the hall to the second bathroom to brush his teeth. When he returned to the bedroom Enjolras was on his side of the bed, curled under the blankets. The shadows around his eyes looked like bruises.

“You still awake or did you already pass out?” Grantaire switched off the light and crawled under the covers.

“Barely awake. Not interested in a chat though.”

“Neither am I. I just wanted to tell you goodnight, and I'm sorry your coworkers suck, and I wish I could help.”

Enjolras' eyes cracked open. “You are helping.”

“I'm trying but it's not...look, you essentially saved my life during that paper crap. All I did was buy you a sub you didn't like and bring you some clean clothes. There's got to be something else I can do to help with work, but I can't think of anything aside from strangling Marius.”

“I've thought of that too, but it's not a long term solution. That would leave us short staffed.”

“You know, it's very hard to tell when you're joking sometimes. You need to work on your delivery.” Grantaire leaned forwards and kissed the tip of Enjolras' nose. “I wish you'd stay home with me tomorrow. I don't have class. We could have a real date, or just hang in with crap TV, or have our friends over or something.”

“I've got a day off in four more days. I promise not to work, and we can do whatever you want for a date. But if I call out tomorrow they'll be short, and Marius kind of deserves it, but Louison and Mabeuf don't.”

“Mabeuf? I don't think you've talked about that one yet. Is he new?”

“He is. He's a funny old man Marius is friends with and I like him immensely. He's much too old for this kind of work but he's very poor so he needs to work. I'm young and able bodied so it's not fair to call out and expect him to pick up the slack. Come visit tomorrow so I can introduce you. I think you'll like him too.”

“Kay. Night, Enj.”

Enjolras answered with a sound that wasn't quite a word, and was sleeping peacefully in minutes.

* * *

“I just had possibly the worst shift I've ever worked at the Musain. Grantaire, I hope you are in the mood to cuddle me and say nice things to me for at least fifteen minutes. You can be your snarky, contrary self again after, of course...oh. Sorry, I didn't realize you had company.”

Enjolras abruptly ended his rant when he walked into the living room and saw his boyfriend nestled in Prouvaire's arms. Grantaire had designed a tattoo for his friend, refused any substantial forms of payment, and so was getting a free manicure in return. They'd picked the last day of finals as a fitting time for Prouvaire to render payment, so he'd met Grantaire outside the art building with a bag of manicure supplies under his arm. They'd gotten dinner, chatted for too long with an eclectic playlist streaming, and skipped out on any larger social gatherings with their friends.

At the moment, Grantaire was sitting with his back to Prouvaire's chest while the poet painted his nails a glittery electric blue, a bottle of wine within easy reach that they were both gulping from directly, the glasses Grantaire had fetched from the kitchen sitting forgotten on the coffee table.

“Jehan doesn't count as company,” Grantaire said dismissively. “Sit down and bitch away about your workday. I can't cuddle yet or I'll smear the manicure, but I'm down as soon as the polish dries. What do you think of the color?” He held his left hand, which was finished aside from the top coat, up to his eyes. “I've been assured it will flatter me.”

“I think it's very becoming,” Prouvaire said. “I bought it with you in mind.”

“I like it,” Enjolras said, though Grantaire couldn't tell if he meant it or not. He still sounded irritated, but that likely had more to do with his workday than with his inebriated boyfriend getting cuddles from a mutual friend.

“I didn't realize you disliked your job,” Prouvaire commented. He finished up Grantaire's ring finger and reached for the bottle of polish before moving on to the pinky. “You've never said anything about the Musain irritating you before.”

“He puts up a good stoic front,” Grantaire agreed. “But it's a fucking service job, Jehan. He's always detested it. I didn't realize how much until he started living here. He's always in a bad mood when he leaves.”

“You guys are just about the only customers who aren't rude, entitled dicks to me,” Enjolras said. “Besides that, my coworkers suck. Louison flakes out on half the tasks she starts and is always complaining about everything, Azelma isn't dependable at all and personally I think she's stealing, and Marius...oh god, where do I begin with that one? He means well but he never pays attention to anything he's doing. Tonight he spilled three separate drinks on me because he wasn't watching where he was going. I know he's still ditzing out because that teenager he's stalking has smiled at him a few times, but he really should get over it and at least try to pay attention to his work.”

“Hm. I wonder if all that has anything to do with the high turnaround. They never seem to keep anyone but Louison for more than six months or so. R, I need your other hand again, dear. Time for the top coat.”

Grantaire let his right hand drop and put his left back into Prouvaire's gentle grip. “You should quit.”

“I need the money.”

“You should find another job,” Prouvaire said. “Then quit. There are plenty of other mediocre service jobs out there. You could see if one of the stores Feuilly works at is hiring.”

“I almost did, actually.” Enjolras sat down cross legged on the floor in front of them and started looking through Prouvaire's bag of manicure supplies. “Two weeks in I knew the place was going to drive me crazy, and the convenience store Feuilly does overnights for was hiring so I almost bailed.”

“Really?” Grantaire looked up from his manicure, confused and upset with himself for how he was taking that revelation. If Enjolras had quit the Musain after only a couple of weeks they'd probably have never seen each other again.

“Did you decide the convenience store wouldn't be much better?” Prouvaire sounded awfully smug, but Grantaire was still stuck on the part where he'd almost lost Enjolras before they'd gotten close.

“Well, that's probably true, but honestly at the time...I was a bit smitten with one of the Musain's regulars and looking for excuses to see him. Quitting would have been...inconvenient.” Enjolras held up a shimmery gunmetal color and let out a sigh. “Now that I don't need to make excuses to see Grantaire I really ought to find a new job. I can't paint my nails at the Musain because we work with food. Otherwise I'd ask you if I could borrow this.”

“Oh, that's one of my favorites. It wears really well, too. The day you find a new job I will give you such the manicure.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Wait...” Grantaire frowned. “Did you really stay on at the Musain just so you could talk to me?”

Enjolras leaned forward and planted a kiss on Grantaire's cheek. “You were the last person to figure out I liked you. Considering I still have to reassure you that I like you at least a couple of times a day, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your reaction. Yes, Grantaire. Even when I still didn't think it was a good idea to date you, I liked seeing you on a regular basis and I was reluctant to give that up. I was in such a bad space at the time with very few pleasures in my life. The five minutes or so a night I got to spend at your table were among them.”

Prouvaire let out an adorable squeaking noise and accidentally painted a swath of Grantaire's skin with the topcoat. “Hey, watch what you're doing.”

“Oh hush. It's _clear_.”

“It's the principle of the thing.”

“I'm doing a terrific job, on _principle_. Now quit fidgeting and give me your other hand. Enjolras, I'm glad you stuck out working at the Musain and integrated into our friendship circle. We're much richer for having you. But now that you are a saved contact in all of our phones and romantically attached to this one, I really think you're beyond the risk of drifting from us. You should look for a job you enjoy.”

“I know.” Enjolras fiddled with the gunmetal polish and dropped it back in the bag. “I could probably find something that paid a little better too, now that I'm not in a desperate rush. I'll start looking again tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to shower. I managed to wipe off most of the lattes Pontmercy spilled on me but I'm pretty sure I reek of flavor shots, even though I can't smell it.”

“You smell like a cinnamon dream,” Grantaire said with a nod.

Enjolras shook his head, a fond smile on his face, then got up and disappeared down the hall.

“Should I make myself scarce after I finish with your nails?”

Grantaire tried to shrug, but was hindered with the death grip Prouvaire had on his wrist. “I dunno. If he's that wiped from work he probably just wants to go to bed. He wouldn't want to kick you out though. We could put a movie on. That way Enjolras can just konk out on the couch if he wants to.”

“It's okay. I probably ought to be going anyway. I have at least three papers I'm neglecting by being social.” Prouvaire let out a weary sigh as he finished the last of Grantaire's nails. Grantaire started to ask about how he could have so many papers when finals were just finishing, but Prouvaire cut him off. “One of them's for a conference, one of them isn't school related, and the last is for one of my summer classes. Now make sure you let those nails dry. I just gave you the best manicure of your life, R. I'll never forgive you if you smudge it.”

“You'd forgive me after one really sad look that made me hate myself more than I do now and we both know it. But I'll be careful.” Grantaire stood up slowly, a little wobbly on his feet without having full use of his hands to balance. Well, that and the wine, and the flask he'd had to replenish a couple times throughout the day.

Prouvaire guided him onto the couch, took a look at him, and then walked into the kitchen. “Just be still and don't mess up the manicure.”

“Kay.”

Grantaire must have fallen into a doze after being left alone in the living room. He opened his eyes when met with two very different but inviting smells: coffee and Enjolras' hippie-dippy environmentally friendly shampoo. “Mm.”

“Hold on.” Prouvaire grabbed Grantaire's wrist, turned his hand over, and lightly tapped his fingernails. “Good, it's completely dry. Don't you dare pour anything into this coffee, R.”

“I'll be good.” Grantaire took a slow sip and let out an exaggerated 'mm.' He was incredibly thankful Enjolras still felt the need to bring coffee bags home from work for him.

Enjolras scooched closer to him on the couch and dropped his head onto his shoulder. His hair was still a little damp, but he was wonderfully warm and smelled strongly of soap and shampoo instead of syrup and espresso.

“Enjolras, this is for you.” Prouvaire set another steaming mug, some kind of fruity green tea based on the smell, on the coffee table and a plate of vegetable sticks and hummus. “I'm going to get going.”

“You don't have to...”

“I need to. I've got loads of homework I should be doing. Besides, I'll see you both tomorrow at the cafe, I'm sure.” He gathered up his things, smiled sweetly at both of them, and then left.

Enjolras started in on the hummus platter. “Prouvaire is a wonderful human being. You should invite him over more.”

“Mm.” Grantaire took another sip of the coffee, some of his lethargy already starting to clear for the warm beverage. “He used to come around a bit more. Don't know if it's school picking up or just you living here too now. I know the honors program is getting pretty heavy. He and 'Ferre are always buried in books, and I'd thought they had it bad last year. And they're not even taking summer off, or slowing down or anything.”

“Well I hope it's school and not me living here. I don't want to chase your friends away. I hope he doesn't think we need privacy. He must realize that we're seeing enough of each other.”

“Enough?” Grantaire jutted out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “You work nine to twelve hour days and I'm stuck at school for a good four or five hours.”

“The semester just ended. Don't be a brat.”

“Can't help it, it's my default. Ask anyone.”

“Oh believe me, I'm aware.” Enjolras made short work of his hummus plate and then downed the tea in quick succession. By the time Grantaire finished his coffee he had a sleepy blond curled against him, nuzzling like a cat. Petting his pretty hair seemed like the only logical thing to do. “I fucking hate my job.”

“Then quit. Stay here with me. We can clear out the second bedroom for Feuilly, if he still wants to get out of his place.”

“R...You can't honestly think that's a good idea. We've barely started dating. It's too soon for us to live together for real.”

“But I like things the way they are now. Well, other than you being miserable from your crap job.”

Enjolras leaned up and kissed him. “I care about you far too much to risk our relationship by moving too fast. Living together is a huge step.”

“It's working out pretty good so far.”

“I'm working seventy hours a week. I'm barely home.”

Grantaire pulled Enjolras into a tight embrace. “As far as I can tell you're a workaholic. Can you imagine how little we'll see each other if you work seventy hours a week _and_ we don't even live together?”

“R, you're being ridiculous. Of course we'll see each other.” Enjolras kissed his temple. “That will most definitely be a priority for me, okay?”

“Kay. Um...did you want to watch something or did you want to go to bed?”

“I have to be at work by six, so bed is probably a good idea. But we can still put something on.”

Grantaire frowned. “I thought you asked Nick not to put you on anymore openings when you close the night before.” In light of the revelation about the Thenardier girls actually being as young as they looked, Enjolras had been shooting to work only closings if at all possible.

“I didn't technically close tonight, since we close at eleven and I got out at ten. And I'm not really opening tomorrow. The cafe opens at six, and the openers get in at five thirty.”

“Ah. Well that's completely different,” he said with a scowl. “We need to find you another job. Seriously. Fuck that noise.”

“I know. No one appreciates how shitty that scheduling is more than I do, believe me. But when I'm this exhausted it's a little difficult to job hunt.” Enjolras lightly kissed the side of Grantaire's mouth and then stood up. “What do you want to watch?”

He was wavering on his feet. Grantaire was pretty sure one firm push to the chest would knock him to the ground. The coffee had cleared Grantaire's head a little, but it hadn't fully woken him up. He left the mostly full mug on the table, took Enjolras' hand, and tugged him towards the bedroom. “Into bed with you, now. I'm sleepy anyway. I can entertain myself plenty by stroking your hair and marveling at your general awesomeness.”

“If you want to marathon something on Netflix-”

“I'm not keeping you up. What time do you get out tomorrow?”

“Five thirty.”

Grantaire frowned. “That's a really long day.”

Enjolras shrugged. “I've worked worse.” He practically dove for the bed and crawled under the blankets, curled up facing Grantaire's side of the bed, eyes half lidded and almost content. Grantaire couldn't help but smile at how quickly he'd dropped his resistance to Grantaire's plan. He hadn't even tried to turn on the TV.

Grantaire took a few minutes changing into pajamas, and by the time he burrowed under the blankets on his side of the bed he thought Enjolras had fallen asleep. But Enjolras' eyes cracked open once Grantaire's head was settled on the pillow, and then Enjolras was reaching for him. He laced his fingers through Grantaire's, and absently ran the pad of his thumb over Grantaire's new manicure.

“Do you paint your nails often? This is the first time I've seen you do it.”

“I did it a few times when I was in high school, right after I came out. I was trying to figure out what kind of queer I was. Turns out I was not femme. But Prouvaire really wanted to do it and I thought it might be fun.”

“Ah.”

“Do you paint your nails when your dress code permits it?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together and nodded. “Not regularly, but I do sometimes. Usually only black though. I used to be a bit of a goth.”

“Really?” Grantaire scrunched his face up. “I'm having a hard time picturing that.”

“Why?”

“Well...you're so blond. And you're pale now, but you must tan like crazy in the summertime.”

Enjolras smirked. “I do, actually. And at the height of my goth phase it drove me crazy. I've never dyed my hair, but you know, there are blond goths.”

“Ah huh.”

“You sound skeptical.”

Grantaire pretended to consider, then ran his hand down the side of Enjolras' face, as though making a study of him. “I think I'll need to see you with some serious smoky eye and tight black pants before I make a decision. Oh, and boots with lots of unnecessary buckles. Maybe a bondage collar. Yeah, I really don't have enough information for this at all. You should probably model for me in a corset too.”

“Just so it can be an informed decision?”

“Mm hm.”

Enjolras laughed, which was wonderful to hear. “I wasn't really a fancy dress goth, R. More of a punky goth.”

Grantaire's eyes went wide. “So wait, black ripped up skinny jeans?”

“Um...yes?” Enjolras looked confused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your ass, in black ripped up skinny jeans. I think I'm having a stroke.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. Have I accidentally hit on some fetish of yours?”

“Apparently, yeah. I'm discovering new things about myself. Because picturing you in those skinny jeans with strappy boots and a collar and painted nails is really turning me on. Oh god, and smudgy eyeliner. Can we resurrect your goth phase? I think it needs a second coming.”

“I didn't really grow out of it. I just got poor. When I left my parents' house I only brought clothes I thought of as practical. Outfits I'd need for interviews and work. Everything with personality probably ended up in trash bags on the curb in front of my parents' house.”

“I think I'm going to cry.”

“You are not going to cry.” Enjolras leaned forward and kissed his nose. “You're such a brat. An endearing brat, but a brat all the same.”

“Yup.”

They were quiet for a moment, but clearly both boys' minds were fast at work.

“Grantaire, I don't want you to buy me any clothes.”

“Oh _come on_.”

“I can't wear them anyway. I work too much for fun clothes to be at all practical right now.”

“Fun clothes are never practical. That's what makes them fun.”

“Buy your own clothes. I'm not wearing anything you buy me.”

“It's not like I'd want you to wear the skinny jeans for very long...”

Enjolras rolled over so that he was facing the room instead of Grantaire's side of the bed. “Good night, Grantaire.”

Grantaire snuggled up behind him, gathered his hair off to the side, and planted a kiss on the back of his neck. “Good night, Enj.” It might have been his imagination, but it looked a little like Enjolras had flinched away from him.

Grantaire honestly couldn't trust his broken brain in a situation like that. It was very dark in the room. Really, it was hard to discern movement.

He closed his eyes, and firmly told himself that his brain was playing tricks on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not forget about this fic, I promise! I have been very busy with work, and also it was much harder to knit these pieces of draft together than expected. And also...lol I'm still kinda circling around writing about Enjolras' demons. It's proving very difficult to do in a fic that's Grantaire PoV. Anyway, I will try to have the next chapter up in a more timely manner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite a few scenes in this chapter like two or three times. This one was a tough one to squeeze out. I've been dancing around these ideas in a few other fics I've worked on and I'm determined to actually explore them this time. It's not exactly pleasant though, so content warning, from here on out the fic is going to deal with rape culture, sexual assault, victim blaming, and intimacy issues arising from these things.

Other than the double date with Feuilly and Rose, Grantaire and Enjolras saw very little of each other for the first few weeks of summer break. The date itself was awkwardness manifested, just as Grantaire had feared it would be. Rose kept picking on him, and regaled Feuilly and Enjolras with embarrassing stories from Grantaire's childhood during dinner.

Enjolras was clearly uncomfortable on Grantaire's behalf, but Rose either didn't notice or didn't care. Feuilly, with his usual sympathy and tact, tried to change the course of conversation, but she stubbornly stuck to stories about Grantaire screwing up school assemblies and wetting the bed at sleepovers. By the time they got to the movie Grantaire was too anxious and irritated to risk social interaction. He was pretty sure he'd just keep screaming at Rose until someone threw him out of the theater, so he kept his mouth shut and curled in on himself, shrinking away when Enjolras tried to hold his hand. After the movie they'd gone right to bed, facing away from each other after murmuring quiet good nights. Enjolras didn't wake Grantaire in the morning when he left for work. The only indication Grantaire had that his boyfriend had ever been in the room was that the curtains were drawn for him and he was still tucked in.

Grantaire wondered if it was his imagination or if he was already fucking up the relationship. It seemed like he and Enjolras had had a few solid days of affection and openness with each other, but now they were kind of back to how they'd been before Enjolras had confessed his feelings. They still kissed sometimes in the hour or so they saw each other a day, but they hadn't sat on the couch and cuddled while watching a show in ages, and they never really flirted.

“Ask him about it,” Prouvaire suggested, very sensibly while Grantaire was moping about his troubles at the Musain.

“But what if it's just me being fucked up? I honestly can't tell.”

“That's why you should ask him.” Prouvaire gave his hand a small squeeze. “Enjolras has already had a window into your state of mind. He should realize that you need small reassurances from time to time but he's also probably too tired to give them without prompting right now. He's got, what...two more weeks to have his first, last, and security together?”

Grantaire scowled. He still thought the better answer was for Feuilly to move in with them. Everyone else seemed to think Enjolras was right though, and that it wasn't a great idea for them to be living together when they'd just started dating.

“R! Just the man I was looking for.” Courfeyrac dropped into the seat next to Grantaire, which he'd been keeping open for Enjolras to use on his breaks, and slung an arm around his shoulder. “What are you doing tonight?”

Grantaire shrugged and motioned towards the main room, where Enjolras was waiting on customers and trying in vain to take an inventory of the bake case.

“Ah...staring longingly at your boyfriend until the cafe closes. Well, considering you've done that nearly every night this week, what's say you ditch and go to the Corinth with me instead? I'm sure Enj won't mind, and Bahorel and Marius are already on their way over.”

“You're taking Marius to the Corinth?” The kid was easily the most sheltered person Grantaire had ever met. Taking him to a dive bar probably wouldn't be quite as amusing as the one time they'd gotten Joly to go (he'd recited every health code violation he'd seen while breathing through a handkerchief and spraying every surface he could with hand sanitizer) but it would still be memorable. “What's the occasion?”

“The puppy's just turned twenty one and wants to have his first legal drink. I offered to pay, but you know, if you're in the mood to celebrate with us and want to buy at least the first round I wouldn't stop you.”

“Can't. I promised Dad I'd cut back on that shit.” It was part of the deal his mother had negotiated for him to keep Enjolras in the apartment. Somehow he'd managed to wriggle out of bringing Enjolras home for more family dinners, but he'd been chewed out soundly over his finances and had promised to let Enjolras' housing take the place of drunken carousing with his other friends.

Courfeyrac looked disappointed. “Ah, shit. Bahorel's such a cheapskate and Marius is broke. That means I'm going to have to actually pay to get drunk if I want to.”

“At least drinks at the Corinth are cheap.”

“Yeah, true enough. Well are you coming or what?”

“You still want me to?”

Courfeyrac laughed, then realized that Grantaire hadn't been joking. He rolled his eyes and gave Grantaire's shoulder a squeeze. “Yeah, of course I want you to come with us. We don't just keep you around to buy booze, you know.”

Grantaire blinked a few times, and Courfeyrac let out a dramatic sigh. “You don't think much of me, do you Grantaire?”

“You've got it backwards, dear,” Prouvaire chimed in. “He thinks very little of himself.”

“Oh yeah, duh.” He rested his elbows on the table and turned what he must have believed to be a very persuasive and charming smile Prouvaire's way. “You could come with us too, y'know.”

“Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm quite sure that this is a more suitable environment for my tastes.”

“Come on, if I get you to come I might be able to drag 'Ferre away from the library. It'd be nice to get the group together to do something fun. I feel like we only get everyone gathered in one place if we're going to protest something, and even then R skips out on that shit.”

“Enjolras won't be there. I ought to stay behind so I can give him emotional support when the customers are mean to him.” Prouvaire picked up one of his heavier books and disappeared behind it, doing his best to withdraw from the conversation in every sense possible.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Fine, fine. Although that's a weak ass excuse. Enjolras is the toughest barista in this cafe. He handles the yuppies just fine. So what about you, R? You should come with. I think a night out would be good for you. It's been forever since we've hung out.”

“Courfeyrac, I've seen you almost every day for the past like three months.”

“Yeah, but it's always here. I want to go somewhere different. Somewhere boozy.”

“God, you're whiny. Fine, I'm down. I'm getting kind of sick of waiting on the crumbs of time Enjolras will spare me anyway.” Grantaire stood up and started shoving his sketchpads and books back into his bag. It took him a bit to notice that Courfeyrac and Prouvaire were looking at him with concern. “What?”

“That sounded bitter,” Courfeyrac said.

“They're having problems,” Prouvaire explained. Courfeyrac nodded in understanding.

“Hey, we are not having problems.”

“Okay.” Prouvaire held up his hands disarmingly. “Then you totally weren't coming to me for counsel before Courfeyrac started bothering you.”

“Hey, I'm not bothering him!”

“Oh you were being a complete bother.”

“Guys!” Grantaire snapped. “Just...never mind. Enjolras and I aren't having problems. We'd have to fucking see each other to have problems. Let's just go and get drunk, okay?”

Courfeyrac nodded again. “Spoken like a man with no problems whatsoever.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

* * *

Despite the fact that Marius was the one who'd just turned twenty one and that it was an expressed goal of Courfeyrac's to get the puppy as shitfaced as possible, by the end of the night Marius was the only one capable of driving. Therefore, he took Bahorel's keys, they all piled into Bahorel's jeep, and one by one Marius deposited his drunken friends at their residences.

It really had been a spectacular night. Grantaire loved his friends dearly, and spending a few hours in a boisterous space like the Corinth, where he could be loud and obnoxious, had been good for him. Now if only the sidewalk and the front steps of his building would stop trying to trip him, then everything about the night would be perfect.

“R, do you need help?” Marius called.

Grantaire waved him on, and then dropped his keys into a pile of fresh mulch. “Oof. Fuck. M'fine, Marius. Take Courfeyrac home. You'll want to get him near a toilet sooner than later, yeah?”

“Will I?” Marius looked slightly panicked.

“Trust me on this. He's a puker. And he's had a looooot of rum.”

“Okay. Well, good night, Grantaire. Thanks for celebrating with me. It was a lot of fun.” Marius beeped a couple of times and then drove off.

Grantaire had to crawl on all fours for a few minutes but he finally managed to get his keys. He ended up trailing mulch into the front entryway. He got upstairs and into his apartment without any trouble, then he noticed he didn't have his keys anymore and realized he'd left them in the doorknob.

“Caught it this time though,” he mumbled to himself. He set his keys in the little bowl on the table Enjolras had set next to the door for that purpose, struggled out of his boots, and then started hobbling to the bedroom.

Enjolras was already asleep, which was quite natural since it was sometime around three in the morning. Or, it had been the last time Grantaire had looked at his phone, which was actually quite awhile ago. Maybe it was closer to four.

“Fuck but he's beautiful,” Grantaire muttered to himself. It wasn't quite hot enough for the air conditioner yet, so Enjolras had left the window open for the breeze. The moonlight was playing marvelously off of his pale skin and mesmerizing hair. It looked unusually silvery, considering it was typically a blaze of gold tones.

Grantaire sat down on the mattress just beside Enjolras and watched the even rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes. The inadequacy and fear he'd been carrying with him for the past few weeks had been dulled with the familiar burn of alcohol, and for the moment he felt almost content just looking at the man he cared for sleeping in his bed.

Enjolras was there, wasn't he? He hadn't run away. Things weren't so bad. Maybe it was all in his head and there were no problems. Enjolras worked a lot and therefore they didn't always get to see that much of each other. Without school to eat up so much of Grantaire's time he was sure to feel it more acutely than he had before.

Before he realized what he was doing, Grantaire's fingers were carding through Enjolras' ridiculously perfect hair. The light movement had his eyes snapping open, and for a second Enjolras looked angry. Then his expression softened as he took in his tipsy mess of a boyfriend.

“Grantaire? What time is it? Why are you petting me? You should be asleep.”

“Didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to...your hair's so soft. And it's a different kind of pretty tonight. Moonlight, I think. It's making it silvery. You're luminous tonight, Enjolras.” Grantaire wonderingly touched the silvery tresses again, a stupid smile on his face.

Enjolras, it appeared, was not similarly enraptured with the situation. “You're spectacularly drunk. You're going to regret it come morning when my alarm goes off.”

“Nah, with the night I had I'll sleep right through it. Don't worry your pretty little head.” He gave Enjolras' cheek a pinch, and then feared for a moment that Enjolras might hit him. “Okay, spectacularly drunk was fair. I will lie down and go to sleep.”

“If you're not going to take your jeans off you should at least take your wallet and phone out of your pockets.”

“Right. Hold on.” Grantaire stood up and wriggled out of his pants, then crawled over to his side of the bed. He scooched next to Enjolras and flung an arm over him. “You're amazing, you know that? Like the most amazing guy ever. That's why I had to touch your hair, because I keep forgetting if you're real or if you're just a really desperate fantasy my brain made to keep me going. Someone as perfectly incredible as you shouldn't be with me, you know. It's just...not how things are supposed to work.”

“Grantaire, the alarm clock says it's four thirty in the morning. Will you please go to sleep? I need to be up in three hours.”

“Sorry.” He dropped a sloppy kiss on Enjolras' cheek in penance.

“Grantaire, can you please go back to your pillow? You're crowding me.”

“I was...was trying to cuddle. You used to like cuddling.”

“Yes, when we're watching shows and you don't reek of bottom shelf liquor it's marvelous, but as is I really need to get back to sleep and you're making that difficult.”

Grantaire returned his arm to his side, and then slowly moved across the bed until he was pressed against the wall. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Didn't meant to...to suck, I guess. Maybe we could watch some shows again soon though? I miss you.”

Enjolras rolled over so that he was facing Grantaire. He looked troubled. “I've got a couple days off in a row next week, by some odd quirk of the schedule. I'll make sure to tell you again tomorrow so that you'll remember. For what it's worth, I miss spending time with you too. Now go to sleep. Even though you don't have to work in the morning, it's still a ridiculous hour to be awake.”

“Kay. S-sorry I...I didn't mean to...g-g'night.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingers over Grantaire's cheek. “I miss you too, you know. I don't like that we're barely seeing each other either, and I'll tell you again tomorrow. You're...you seem to be over thinking and misreading the situation.”

“Most likely, yeah. You're not mad at me? For being a fuck up?”

“Never. Now go to sleep, R.”

“Kay.” Grantaire could feel a small smile tugging his lips. He enjoyed one more caress from his boyfriend, and then dropped off.

* * *

Grantaire sobered unusually quickly, considering the liver damage he'd committed with his friends. His sleep turned restless, and he kept waking up sprawled at odd angles. He returned to his pillow and closed his eyes, struggled to return to sleep, and woke again in another odd angle missing his pillow. The room was progressively lighter every time it happened, and he started to wonder if he should stop trying to sleep and just wait for Enjolras' alarm to go off.

The next time he woke up his face was buried in Enjolras' neck and his arms were wrapped tightly around Enjolras' waist. Enjolras made a groggy noise and placed a hand over Grantaire's clasped ones. Pleased with the response, Grantaire placed a few kisses on Enjolras' neck, and then trailed them along his jaw. All the jittery restlessness evaporated, and suddenly he was much more content to lie still and enjoy the moment.

Never in his wildest dreams had Grantaire ever expected to wake up in bed with anyone even half as stunning as Enjolras. They'd yet to do anything remotely sexual, but he still wanted to go back in time and high-five his teenage self, who'd been incredibly lonely, awkward, and brutally tormented by bullies at school for being the only openly gay kid in his grade. Fifteen year old Grantaire would never have believed it if someone had told him he'd have a sleepy Enjolras in his arms someday (Well, twenty three year old Grantaire had a hard time believing it so his fifteen year old self would _never_ have come around).

“You're crowding me again.” Enjolras' voice was scratchy from sleep. It masked his tone a bit, and Grantaire stilled, worried that he'd upset him. But Enjolras twined his fingers through Grantaire's, which was encouraging, and he closed his eyes and let out a pleased hum when Grantaire started kissing his neck again.

“You smell nice,” Grantaire whispered.

“I smell like coffee.”

“Coffee's a nice smell. I wouldn't be surprised if that was a factor in bewitching me. Hypnotic hair, coffee pheromones, killer vocabulary from all those books...it's like you were designed with my seduction in mind.”

“Yes, that's my secret. I was cloned in a laboratory for that express purpose and nothing else. I'm not sure what the next step in my mad scientist creator's evil master plan is, but I know that it was imperative I bend a sarcastic art student to my will.”

“Mm...mission accomplished.” Grantaire nuzzled sleepily against Enjolras, inhaled a deep lungful of the aforementioned coffee pheromones, and for once felt pretty damn content with his lot in life. He let go of Enjolras' hand and skimmed his fingers underneath Enjolras' t-shirt, trailing along the flat stomach and jut of his hip bone. “You are so fucking beautiful. Prettiest thing ever, really.”

“So you've said. Um...I have to get up soon.”

“Alarm didn't go off yet. We can still snuggle. C'mon, Enj...this is nice, isn't it?”

“Yes, but the alarm's going to go off any min-Grantaire, come on.” Enjolras shifted further down the bed when Grantaire tried to move his hand lower. Grantaire backed off too, and retreated for his own pillow.

He was curled in on himself facing the wall when the alarm finally did go off. Enjolras switched it off but remained in bed, back to Grantaire.

After an incredibly tense couple of minutes Enjolras quietly apologized. He climbed out of bed, gathered up a few things, and left for the bathroom. Grantaire pretended to be asleep when he tried to say goodbye before leaving for work.

* * *

“Has Enjolras ever had a boyfriend before?”

Feuilly pinched the bridge of his nose and then motioned to a coworker of his who'd been stocking a display. “Hey, I'm gonna go on my fifteen.”

“But you just got here. Don't you want to put it more towards the middle of the shift?”

“I'd rather not have whatever discussion this asshole is insisting we have on the floor.” Feuilly stalked off for the break room and Grantaire followed.

Well, break closet would have been a more accurate description of the little nook just off the sales floor of the convenience store. It was just large enough for a TV tray, folding chair, and a bit of counter with a coffee pot on it. Feuilly helped himself to a styrofoam cup of coffee and sat down on the chair. “Jehan said you guys were having problems.”

“Fuck. You think you can confide in a guy, but then he blabs to everyone.” Grantaire looked down at his manicure and flicked off a chip of blue paint. “It started to get weird.”

“Mm. I mean, from my angle it doesn't look like anything you guys can't talk your way through. I stand by my conviction that you're going to be really good for him. But he's got some stuff he needs to work through that could get in the way. You seem to have guessed this already, but yeah, you're right. Enjolras has never had a boyfriend before. He's barely done any dating. He has no clue what he's doing and he doesn't like the feeling. Nothing irritates him more than indecision.”

“Ah. So...do you know if he's ever had sex?”

Feuilly shrugged. “We've never talked about that, honestly. I know he's had plenty of opportunities for casual hookups if he'd wanted them but I'm pretty sure he's never gone for it. He's probably a virgin. Grantaire, don't you think you should be talking to him about this and not me? I mean I have been friends with Enjolras for longer than you, but when it comes to the intensely personal I don't know that much more than you do.” It went unsaid, but there was an undercurrent of 'and it's not my place to share what I do know,' in the pissy look on his face and defensive body language.

“Yeah, I just...look. He's been weird about a few things in a very specific way and he's said some odd shit. Like that he feels safe with me, and that he'd...that sharing a bed with people is difficult. He gets flinchy sometimes when I touch him. Stuff like that. I just want a little more info before I talk to him because I've got two ideas and one of them's going to be a bitch and a half to handle if that's the case.”

Feuilly took the defensiveness down a peg. “I'm listening. What are your thoughts?”

“Well, if I'm lucky he's just ace and all we need to do is figure out his comfort level for cuddling and stuff. He's clearly not aromantic, and I'm actually something akin to a teenage girl when it comes to romance so ace is something I can work with.”

Feuilly's eyes widened. “You'd be okay with dating Enjolras without having sex?”

God, he made that sound like the most shocking thing in the world, whereas Grantaire felt it was rather a given. He was passionately in love with Enjolras. Did Feuilly not see that?

“I'm not having sex now so it wouldn't actually make much of a difference in my day to day life.” Grantaire motioned to his face. “Gargoyle face, obnoxious personality, and worrying drinking problem. I'm used to being alone. I can deal. Besides, he's fucking worth it. The other thing I'm worried about is that he's having some kind of PTSD reaction. Because...I don't actually think he's asexual. I think he wants to be physical with me.” Grantaire rubbed at his eyes. Saying it aloud for the first time made it real in a way it hadn't been before. “Fuck. Feuilly, do you know if Enjolras was abused at some point?”

Feuilly shook his head. “R, if that's what happened it's not something he would ever talk about, even to me.”

“Yeah...yeah, I figured. I dunno. I guess I was just kinda hoping you'd have something for me. I'm kinda lost here. I'm not so healthy and stable myself that I can offer support and stability to spare, y'know? Which is...is fucking bullshit because he's carrying around all this stuff and he's been helping me, and I've had a charmed life in comparison. This is utter bullshit.”

“R.” Feuilly got up and squeezed his shoulder. “You haven't run away. You're preparing yourself for this conversation instead of impulsively launching into it. You're concerned solely for Enjolras' well being, albeit in a worryingly self-negating sort of way, but there's still a sweetness to it. As the closest thing Enjolras has to a bestie right now I'm honestly not concerned. This is why I really wanted you guys to get together.”

“Because you thought someone more damaged than him might make him feel better in comparison?”

Feuilly scowled at him. “No, you fucking moron. Because you love him and you want to help him. Now quit wasting my break. I'm taking it a half hour into my shift because of you.”

“I'll swing by with some takeout in a few hours.”

“You'd fucking better.” Feuilly gave his shoulder another squeeze and walked him out of the store.

* * *

Grantaire leaned against the wall of the Musain building and watched as the closing baristas trickled out. First came Marius, too invested in the screen of his phone to notice Grantaire's friendly nod or return it. He caught a murmur of 'my beautiful lark' and assumed the kid was off to meet up with his jail bait.

The second barista to leave didn't notice him either. This one was a little old man, hunched over an impressive looking tome on lepidopteran studies that must have been loaned to him by Combeferre. It was quite astonishing, to watch Mabeuf walk down the road with his nose buried in such a heavy book and not walk into anything. Grantaire didn't even nod, just silently wished the old man well and felt a sense of pride that his friends had taken such a shine to the guy and were trying to look out for him in their little ways. Combeferre and Prouvaire were keeping his reading habit supplied, Courfeyrac had given him some old clothes to replace the badly patched castoffs he'd been wearing, and Feuilly was delivering food pantry donations to his one room senior housing apartment once a week.

Enjolras was the last to leave by quite the margin, which wasn't surprising considering he'd probably done half the closing tasks by himself. He frowned when he saw Grantaire waiting for him. “Why didn't you come inside?”

“I didn't make it in time before you locked the door. Besides, it's a nice night.” Grantaire motioned towards the sky. “You can even see a few stars around the city funk.”

“Oh. Hadn't noticed.” Enjolras finished with the locks and then went to Grantaire's side. They set off for what would be _their_ apartment for one more measly week.

Feuilly had secured a two bedroom for him and Enjolras through his current landlord. It was undoubtedly a much nicer apartment, and actually only a few blocks away from Grantaire's building. Now that he'd seen the place, Grantaire understood why Enjolras was working so hard for it. Feuilly wouldn't be saving that much money for having a roommate, since the quality of the building demanded higher rent, and there was a washer/dryer hookup in the building but the roommates lacked such appliances. Enjolras was hoping not only to move into the apartment, but to outfit it in some imitation of the old quality of life he'd been used to. Plus he wanted to get back into school as soon as possible. Every minute not spent actively working towards those goals felt like time being squandered, even when it was for something others would call essential, like a proper night's rest.

Or spending quality time with his new boyfriend, though Grantaire was trying not to stew in such thoughts.

Grantaire was glad Feuilly was going to be living closer to him, and relieved Enjolras wouldn't be that far away, but he was still upset about the impending separation. He knew he had a tendency to be incredibly clingy and he was trying his damndest to stay rational and not be an unnecessary nag to Enjolras, who was already really stressed out. He wasn't sure it was working, though, and keeping the bitter thoughts to himself was proving difficult.

“Um, how was work?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Nick wants to make me a supervisor.”

“Oh. Wait, weren't you a supervisor already?” Enjolras had a key to the cafe, for fuck's sake, and he'd been in charge of training Mabeuf and the other new hires.

“Nope. Technically, not even Louison's a supervisor and she's definitely been doing the work for over a year. Nick wants to make it official and give me a dollar and a half raise. He said I'm the best worker he's ever had and he...he wants to try to secure me.”

“He can tell you wanted to quit.”

Enjolras nodded. “Louison's freaking out. She's been working there longer than me and she's only ever gotten the raises state minimum wage laws provided.”

“Well, that's not your fault. Enjolras, this is good news. You've been there for less than a year and you're already getting promoted. That'll look good on a resume when you do finally leave the Musain. You're taking it, right?”

“I asked him for a day to think it over,” Enjorlas said. “It just doesn't feel right. Louison deserves the raise. She's worked there longer and has the experience.”

“But she's a shitty worker. You've said so yourself.” Many times. At length. “Enj, you earned it. Take the raise. You're already doing the work anyway.”

“So is Louison. She should get the raise too. It doesn't matter if she's not working as hard as me. It's not fair. Besides, maybe Nick's employees would work harder for him if he offered them more motivation. Most people don't put their all into a shitty service job just out of principle. And Louison is legitimately tired and irritated most days because of her life circumstances. I'm sure she'd be more devoted to the Musain if she weren't so bitter about the way Nick's treated her for the past three years. He does the bare minimum for his employees and expects them to be grateful for their shitty paychecks.”

Grantaire grinned and shook his head. “You guys should unionize.” He said it as a joke, but was hardly surprised when Enjolras took the suggestion seriously.

“Grantaire, guess what?” Enjolras smiled a genuine smile and grabbed Grantaire's hand where it had been idly swinging at his side. “I don't have to work until five tomorrow. I got a sensible closing shift tonight! I can stay up for a few hours with you, and we can sleep in in the morning.”

“Wow, Nick really wants you to take this promotion, huh?”

“Yes, I think he's trying to butter me up with a fair and sensible work schedule. Either way, I think we should watch cooking shows and snuggle. I can make us hot chocolates and you can cook one of your stir fry dishes. I've been looking forward to this all day.”

Enjolras remained in a cheerful mood for the rest of the short walk home. As soon as they got in he ran for the bedroom to change out of the drab Musain black clothing and into his more comfortable black lounging around clothes (since finding out about the goth fashion sense Grantaire had moved all his darker colored clothing to the top drawers of his dresser, though he'd stuck to his reluctantly given promise not to buy Enjolras any new clothes). There was a nice bounce in his step when he went into the kitchen to start heating milk for their beverages.

Then his eyes fell on some pamphlets Grantaire had been looking through earlier in the day. He'd absently left them on the kitchen table next to his laptop. He hadn't intended it as a conversation starter, though he had to admit that this was much more convenient than trying to spark the conversation on his own.

“Grantaire, have you been reading up on asexuality?”

“I think it's pretty obvious that I have, yeah.” Grantaire turned away from the direction of the kitchen table and kept his focus on the tofu block he was chopping. “I mean, we're the only guys living here. If you didn't leave something out obviously it was me. I got those from the LGBT youth group that meets in the strip mall downtown.”

“I used to volunteer with them before I started working so much. I actually helped write this one.” Enjolras picked up one of the pamphlets and tossed it back onto the table.

Grantaire risked a peek up from the tofu block, but Enjolras' expression was inscrutable, even to him with all his practice.

“If you have a question, you should just ask.”

“Kay. Um...are you ace?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “God, I'm terrible. I told you to just ask and now I don't know what to say. Honestly...I don't think I am. But I'm...now that I'm in a situation where I could, I'm not as eager to...to have...um. Anyway, the difference between hypothetical situations and reality is more jarring than I'd expected.”

Grantaire felt an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. Enjolras hadn't considered himself asexual _until_ he'd started dating Grantaire. Damn. He talked a good game about looks not being important to him, but then the thought of being intimate with a troll like Grantaire made him reconsider his sexual orientation.

Wait, that might have been the broken brain twisting things.

But dammit, how was he supposed to take this?

“Grantaire? Are you...you look upset.”

“I'm fine.” Grantaire dumped the tofu into a bowl and started in on the broccoli. “Just, y'know, if you are ace you should tell me. That's all. I...I don't want to make you uncomfortable by accident.”

“It wouldn't be a deal breaker?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Of course not. I'm in love with you and I'm used to going long periods of time without a sexual partner. I, uh, I know I try to spit some game with Courf and Bahorel when I've had a few, but you must have noticed living with me that I never take anyone home. I'm...not quite the hot ticket drunk-me makes me out to be.”

Enjolras smirked and came up behind Grantaire. He rested his head on Grantaire's shoulder and gave him a tight squeeze. “Well, everyone you've ever flirted with has terrible taste then, because I find you to be a very hot ticket. I can't believe this is really okay. I thought for sure...I mean, you're always talking about how attractive I am. I was certain that my...my lack of eagerness for, um, things would be a problem.”

“Well it's not. I mean, don't get me wrong. I do think you're absolutely gorgeous and I'm very much not asexual so of course I want to sleep with you. But I'm of the consent must be enthusiastic and continuous school of thought. It wouldn't be fun if you weren't into it. Actually, that'd be fucking terrible. I don't ever want to do anything you don't want to do, so just keep me briefed on your interest level and comfort and we'll be good.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras' voice sounded oddly strangled. Grantaire put the vegetables down and turned, with some difficulty owing to the tightness of Enjolras' embrace, so that they were facing each other. He'd never seen Enjolras look so emotional before.

Enjolras held him close and leaned in for a kiss. It was relatively chaste, but Grantaire felt something important was being conveyed in the light brush of lips.

“Grantaire, I don't have words for what that means to me.” Enjolras' voice was still a little wobbly and very quiet. Grantaire brushed some wavy blond strands out of his face and sighed.

“What, that I'm presenting you with the bare minimum of not being an asshole? C'mon, not pushing you for sex you don't want to have is hardly anything to write home about.”

“That is the way it should be, but it's not always the reality. You...you really caring about me, I mean _really_ caring and being understanding about my reluctance...that is actually very important to me. Just, thank you. I appreciate the fact that you're not going to pressure me, and that I won't lose you if it's something I can't do.”

“Consider me a barnacle, babe. You're absolutely stuck with me at this point.” Grantaire curled up against Enjolras and planted a wet kiss on his neck that made him wriggle and laugh. “Now get back to work on those cocoas so I can finish this stir-fry, or we're never going to eat and cuddle.”

Enjolras nodded and went back to the stove, wearing the kind of warm smile Grantaire hadn't seen since the first couple of days they'd been dating.

Later that night, when the remnants of the stir-fry were sitting on the coffee table with their empty mugs and the two were curled up on the sofa with a light blanket around them, Enjolras struck up the conversation again. Grantaire had assumed he'd drifted off. Having the option to stay up later didn't actually make him less tired, after all, but Enjolras surprised him by squeezing his hand and saying, in a very firm voice, “I'm going to figure it out, R.”

“What, princess cake? Considering you can't make my stir-fry by yourself, don't you think you should start somewhere easier for your cooking lessons?” Grantaire blinked sleepily and looked from the television to Enjolras' serious face. They'd been watching the Great British Baking Show on Netflix and Grantaire was at a loss to explain what Enjolras could be talking about. They joked sometimes about trying to replicate the recipes on the show, but never anything from the technical challenges.

“No, not cooking. Although come to think of it, that is something I should work on as well. I meant...what we talked about earlier. I'll do some soul searching, I guess, and have an answer for you. Whatever my boundaries are, you deserve to know them.”

“Enj, you don't have to worry about it, really.” Grantaire paused the show and scooched back a bit on the couch so they were facing each other. “I'm very happy with you.”

“No you're not.”

“Pardon?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You're second guessing yourself and questioning your worth constantly. I'm cold and I suck at reading your moods and I snap at you too much. And no matter how many perfect answers you give me about the sex stuff, on some level it's got to hurt that it's not something I'm sure I can do with you.”

“That's totally not true.”

Enjolras arched a skeptical brow. “You convince yourself I loathe you if I leave for work an extra five minutes early in the morning. There is no way my hang ups about sex aren't affecting you. I don't care if you're able to talk yourself out of your feelings when you're having a good day. I mean, that's good, obviously, but it's not what I'm asking. It bothers you, doesn't it?”

Grantaire frowned, and felt like he'd been put in a very uncomfortable position. “I know it shouldn't. Whatever's going on isn't your fault and it isn't mine, and if you can't have sex then you can't have sex. I will deal with it. I promise you, whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

“Please don't lie to me, R. I hate dishonesty.”

“I'm not lying! It's the truth.”

“It's also not what I asked. Does the idea of us not having sex bother you?”

Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose. “Today it doesn't. Tomorrow it might feel like rejection, but then, tomorrow I might convince myself you're going to dump me for twenty different reasons while you're at work. As long as I don't act on that shit, I don't understand why it's a problem.”

“Because I don't want to make you feel worse than you do already.” Enjolras hugged his knees to his chest. “Fuck. I knew this was going to happen. When you date someone, there's always a progression and it really is a very reasonable expectation that...that sex will happen at some point. I really should have figured this out for myself before even thinking of dragging you into it. R, I'm sorry. This was incredibly weak and selfish of me.”

“For fuck's sake, Enjolras! We can just cuddle for now. It's fucking fine, I promise! I don't care. Just as long as you don't dump me, I will be fine. I am fine. Will you come here and let me hug you?” Grantaire held his arms out and, after a brief hesitation, Enjolras crawled over to him and buried his face in Grantaire's neck. Grantaire petted his hair and stroked his back, and when he seemed a little less tense he tilted Enjolras' face up and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “Do you feel any better?”

“I still feel like a selfish asshole,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Ah, I know that one. Well, you're not. Do you want to try watching the show again or...we're gonna keep having this conversation, aren't we?”

Enjolras frowned, considering. “I suppose we don't have to. We're going in circles anyway and I'm just agitating you. I wanted this to be a nice night.”

“It is. You just need to relax. God, it's weird being the one saying this shit instead of hearing it.” Grantaire laughed. “We've switched. You've got all my insecurities and nervousness tonight.”

“Hm. How do you get your disobedient brain to chill out? Wait, I know your methods and don't care for them. At least, I don't think it'd work for me.” Enjolras nestled himself snugly into Grantaire's arms and faced the TV. “Say something nice to me and then turn the show back on. I think that should do the trick.”

“You're strength and beauty personified and I love you, even when your brain is mimicking mine.” Grantaire kissed the top of his head and turned the show back on.

“That cake does look tricky, doesn't it?” Enjolras sounded impressed, now that he was actually paying attention to the show.

“I've never even seen one of those before. It's got so many different parts. I'm not sure even Jehan could make one.”

“Does he bake?”

“Yeah, he's really good at it.”

“Hm. You know, if we asked him to make the princess cake he'd probably keep trying until he got it right. And we could eat all the failed attempts.”

Grantaire laughed. “Oh that is devious. Brains and looks. I can't help but feel I've done well for myself.”

Enjolras smiled up at him. “Likewise.”

* * *

Grantaire swung by the strip mall that housed their city's LGBT youth group headquarters the next day. He knew he was a smidge too old to partake of services intended for high school kids, but he was still hoping that someone there might be able to refer him to _something_ that could help him make sense of his very confused and surprisingly emotional boyfriend. They had walk-in hours that started about an hour before everyone else started drifting into the Musain, so he headed that way after doing a few chores for the apartment.

He was greatly surprised when he found Prouvaire manning the desk. Based on the way Prouvaire's neatly penciled brows climbed his forehead, the surprise was mutual.

“Grantaire, what on earth are you doing here? This organization serves teenagers and children.”

“Yeah, but it's the only place in the city I've been able to find information on asexuality. The woman who was working the desk last week let me take a few pamphlets. I was wondering if you guys could make an exception and let me have a peek in the library even though I'm, what, two years too old to be here.” The cut-off age for attending meetings and events was twenty one, which figured since Grantaire had only learned of the group's existence last year.

Prouvaire frowned. “I'm a new volunteer, R. I don't want to do anything that will get me into trouble. But Enjolras is twenty one, right?”

“Barely twenty one at that. His birthday was just before Marius'.”

“As I assume the book is really for him, it shouldn't be a problem.” Prouvaire left the desk and beckoned Grantaire to follow him down a narrow hall and into a tiny, eclectically decorated little room that served as library and study space. “I haven't had a chance to go through every book in the collection but I'm honestly not sure you'll find what you're looking for. I've made a little shopping list for myself, actually. There are plenty of books that I consider absolutely essential for a healthy queer adolescence in an unforgiving and conformist middle class suburb, and these shelves are woefully inadequate. But I suppose one can't ask for miracles from a non-profit that subsists off of donations.”

Grantaire ran his fingers down the spines of some comic book trades known to contain LGBT characters. “I would have killed for a resource like this place when I was in high school.” Apparently the youth group had existed, but with much less funding and without its own meeting place. It had depended on the charity of churches willing to let them meet in their basements. “When did you start volunteering?”

“A few weeks ago. Enjolras was talking about it rather forlornly. He's not sure when he's going to have the time to resume his duties as a peer leader and he said he felt like he was letting the kids down, because they didn't have enough volunteers. I'm not great at leading discussions or anything, but I can work the desk well enough, and that frees up some of the more charismatic volunteers to sit with the kids and do discussion groups.” He shrugged. “I'm not a very good replacement for Enjolras, but it's something.”

“I think it's pretty rad of you.” Grantaire couldn't help being impressed. Aside from his very close friends, who didn't count, Prouvaire felt nervous and flinchy in groups. Giving his time this way, when he'd have to talk to any stranger who walked through the door for hours at a time, was an incredible sacrifice for him. It was honestly kind of moving.

“Anyway, to your question.” Prouvaire helped him find the appropriate shelf for sexuality and gender studies, and they found exactly one reference to asexuality, in the glossary of a book mostly on something else entirely. “I'm sorry, R. I think those pamphlets out front are really the most detailed we're going to get for you, I'm afraid.”

Grantaire sighed. “I guess I should have expected as much. I don't think a book's going to be terribly helpful anyway. I just...wanted to feel like I was doing something.”

“I should get back out to the desk but, um...is everything okay? Do you need to talk?”

He shook his head. “Me and Enj are talking. We're...kinda circling the conversation instead of really having it, but I think we get a little closer every time.”

“Ah. Well I suppose that's good. Um...did he say he was asexual?”

Grantaire made an iffy motion with his hand. “Not really, but he didn't rule it out either. He said he's got to do some soul searching on it.”

“Oh. Okay. Because he's always identified himself as gay, so if he's identifying ace now then it's a recent discovery. And rather unexpected. We...we used to talk about boys together. I, er...never got from him that he had a disinclination for sex.”

“Yeah, he always said he was gay to me too. I dunno. He didn't start to get flinchy until recently. He was down for cuddles and stuff. Maybe it's just different now that it's less theoretical and more, like...handsy? Shit, I'm bad at this.” Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and let out a nervous laugh.

And once more, avoided giving voice to his other suspicion regarding Enjolras' nervousness around physical intimacy.

Prouvaire reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I think you're doing fine, dear, and I think it's very encouraging that you're going outside your comfort zone like this and trying to find out more information for him.”

“What do you...I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You totally weren't the one talking over Combeferre about how LGBTQ activism has been ruining itself by talking each other to death with overwrought definitions and inventing ugly new pride flags and overcomplicated jargon that makes it impossible for cis-hets to follow us, let alone feel sympathy with our aims. No offense dear, but you didn't sound terribly open to the needs of asexuals then.”

“Yeah, well I was drunk,” Grantaire mumbled, not at all enjoying having his hypocrisy called out. “And not aware that I was possibly in love with an ace. How much longer's your shift?”

“Drop in hours end at eight. I'll head over to the Musain after that. Combeferre and I were planning on studying there together for a couple of hours tonight. Will I be seeing you?”

Grantaire grinned. “C'mon, where else would I be on a Friday night but watching Enjolras make fancy espresso drinks?”

Prouvaire laughed. “I'll see you in a little bit then.”

* * *

The night passed pleasantly. Once more, Courfeyrac dragged half their table away to the Corinth for stronger drinks and louder revelry than what the Musain afforded, but this time Grantaire hung back with Prouvaire and Combeferre. He and Prouvaire shared his laptop, looking up info on asexuality and eventually some of the other identities that tended to get forgotten about in LGBT+ circles. Prouvaire considered it necessary research for his new volunteering duties, and Grantaire found it surprisingly interesting and just a good life lesson in general. It was harder to be sarcastic and dismissive when one understood where the communities in question were coming from.

Combeferre and Prouvaire left the cafe together shortly before closing, holding hands and looking utterly adorable. Grantaire watched them leave with a wistful expression, and hoped Prouvaire truly felt as serene as he looked. Knowing him, it could have been a mask, and he could have been the same sort of paranoid mess Grantaire was over his romantic life.

Enjolras was even later finishing the closing tasks than last time. Eponine and Azelma had both punched out at ten, leaving him with just Mabeuf to finish the tasks at eleven. But Mabeuf clearly wasn't up to any heavy lifting (figuratively or literally) and so Enjolras had let him leave after the last customers trickled out. Grantaire put all the chairs up on the tables for him, but that was the most Enjolras would let him contribute. “You're here for company, not to work.”

“I don't care, Enj. I can wipe down the counters for you while you count out the register. You're already breaking rules by letting me hang out to begin with. Why not go crazy and let me mop the floor?”

“Just stand there and look pretty, Grantaire. You're here to keep me company.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I think I stand a better chance of mopping the floor than the task you just set me, but have it your way.”

“Nonsense. You're already doing splendidly. Now stop distracting me. Marius was on the drawer this morning and it's a fucking disaster. He left me all these sticky notes that I need to decipher.”

Grantaire smirked, and leaned against the counter. Once Enjolras was involved enough in the mysteries of Pontmercy's cashiering to be talking to himself about the sticky notes, he stealthily grabbed the all purpose spray and successfully wiped down the counters.

They talked about the promotion Enjolras had reluctantly accepted on the way home. Enjolras planned on sticking it out at least a few more months, and then with the supervisor title safely earned on his resume he'd start looking for a more satisfying job. He'd also managed to talk Nick into giving Louison a small raise, which eased some of his guilt.

Everything felt rather peaceful and domestic once they got back to the apartment. Even Grantaire's broken brain couldn't do much with the situation. The worst emotion he got was a dull but persistent regret that these nights would be ending soon, since Enjolras would be moving out. Even then, Enjolras had assured him many times that he'd sleep over Grantaire's as often as he could, which was working surprisingly well to bring him out of his pathetic musings and ground him in reality.

It was a good night for what had overall been a very good day. Grantaire felt almost healthy and nearly whole, and he'd barely had anything to drink at all. He settled into bed, thinking he might have an easy time falling asleep despite drinking lightly, when Enjolras sat down next to him with a serious expression on his face.

“Grantaire, I've been thinking a lot about our, our conversation from before. Um...I don't think it's a good idea to pretend that my difficulty with sex has anything to do with my sexual orientation. I only entertained the notion because I'm cognizant of sexual fluidity and...and...you know, preferences can change over time and I'm open to that possibility. But I'm pretty sure I can pinpoint the beginning of my discomfort with sex to an exact moment.”

Grantaire sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. “I'd thought as much. You were assaulted, weren't you?”

Enjolras shivered, and then nodded. “Which is...different from being ace.”

“Yeah, I'd say so.” Grantaire sighed. “Well, one thing's still the same. No pressure whatsoever from me, okay? So don't worry about it. I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with, and if you can't get physical then that's that. I'll deal.”

Enjolras crawled under the blankets and faced towards Grantaire, wearing a grim expression that was at odds with his baby face. “I'm not sure how much I'm ready to discuss yet, I just thought it was important for you to know that I'm not rejecting you in any way. I do want to have sex with you. I just...”

“Have some hang ups. That's legit, Enj. Don't worry about it-”

“Honestly, Grantaire, you telling me not to worry about my inability to be intimate with you is working about as well as when I tell you not to be anxious because nothing's wrong, so can you stop it already? You can tell me that my defects don't bother you. It doesn't make me feel any less damaged. You deserve better than what I can give you.”

Grantaire scowled. “Kay, so here's the thing. You don't owe me anything. We both came into this relationship as adults, right? I might not be mature when it comes to an awful lot of things, but I've got this one down. Just because we're dating doesn't mean I get to have lots and lots of sex with you. And it certainly doesn't mean that you're going to put yourself through any kind of emotional bullshit just to try to please me. I mean, if this is something you want to work on for your own well being then please do. Sex is awesome and fun and I am totally down with doing that with you when you're ready. But you don't owe me sex, Enjolras. I won't disappear if it's something you can't do, and there's no timetable on being ready. Got it?”

For a moment Grantaire thought he might have crossed the line from assertive to bullying. Enjolras was incredibly shaky, and vulnerable in a way Grantaire hadn't seen him before. It sort of made sense. Usually, when things got too emotional for him he went into ice-mode and tried to make a break for it. But they'd gotten closer, and Grantaire was getting to see things Enjolras hid from the rest of the world.

Which included a few tears, and once Enjolras' eyes watered Grantaire felt like the most miserable bastard on the planet.

“Oh, fuck. Enj, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I should not be yelling at you for telling me your feel-hey.”

Enjolras clapped a hand over Grantaire's mouth. “Shut up for a minute. You're being wonderful, actually. But I think this is as much as I can handle tonight. Can we resume this conversation later on?”

Grantaire nodded around the hand that was still blocking his mouth. Enjolras let out a relieved breath, and then replaced his hand with a gentle kiss. “Good night, R.”

“Night, Enj.”

Grantaire rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, but the easy sleep he'd been expecting didn't come. His anxiety returned in full force, creating all sorts of dreadful conversations for them to have in the future, and fears of what Enjolras had already suffered in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering how tricky it was to finish writing this chapter, the next one might take me a bit. Apologies in advance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hello.
> 
> I wrote a really long scene for this chapter that somehow didn't make it in. Whoops. So anyway, I've started writing chapter twelve, I guess. Hopefully the next update will be speedier. Also, I want to get back into the habit of replying to the lovely comments you folks have been leaving me. I really do appreciate them. Thank you for your encouragement and general awesomeness <3

Grantaire scowled at his laptop and then closed it with a decided click that made Prouvaire look up from his book. “Something amiss, R?”

“I've got an appointment with a counselor from health services on Friday.”

“Oh. Um...I take it that's a bad thing?”

“It's summer break! I didn't think the counseling sessions were going to start until September, when I'm actually in school. I don't take summer classes. I'm not ready for this. What the ever loving...and shouldn't they have talked to me before scheduling anything?” He tugged at his hair, making a real show of his frustration.

“You agreed to see a counselor during our meeting with the dean and your art history professor. Your adviser promised to email you after he set it up,” Enjolras reminded him, appearing at his side rather conveniently with a cookie to assuage his anger.

“Oh yeah.” Grantaire immediately tore off a chunk of gooey chocolate goodness and popped it into his mouth. Enjolras gave his shoulder a squeeze and attempted to smile. It didn't quite work, since he was having a tiring shift even for the Musain, but the effort was there.

“I know you're not looking forward to this, but I think it'll be good for you in the long run. Besides, you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I expect you'll take a few sessions to work up to the alcoholism.”

“Uh huh.” Grantaire broke off another piece of cookie, but this time it was more to excuse his silence on the subject than any desire for sweets. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Enjolras, silently debating whether he should bring up his own thoughts on who should really be seeing a therapist.

Well, he probably shouldn't do it during Enjolras' fifteen minute break at work, at any rate. And not in front of their friends.

Sensing the potential for discomfort, Prouvaire distracted Enjolras by talking about one of the papers he was working on, and once the nerds were safely distracted Grantaire opened his laptop and reread the email. He set a reminder in his phone, indulged in one more scowl, and then went back to the paper he was working on.

“What's this?” Enjolras asked. He leaned against Grantaire's shoulder and peered at the screen. Reflexively, Grantaire wrapped an arm around Enjolras, something he often did when they were in the privacy of his apartment. As they were very much not alone, they were treated to Bahorel making gagging noises from the other end of the table.

Enjolras threw a straw wrapper at him.

“You know how you said my papers were good enough for publication? My adviser thinks so too. I'm working on fixing this one up for a journal. It's not, like a huge deal or anything because the issue we're submitting to is specifically for undergrad writing, so the bar's set pretty low. But it's a start. If I get published here, I can mention it when I'm submitting to other places down the line.”

“I think it's wonderful, R. Let me know if you want me to read it over for you before you submit.”

“Me too,” Combeferre chimed in. “Actually, I just want to read it anyway, but if it'll help you that's extra incentive.”

“I'll wait until I can get a copy in print,” Prouvaire said.

Grantaire slouched down in his seat low enough for the laptop to block him from view of his friends. “You guys are being ridiculous.”

“We're being supportive. Which is, admittedly, sometimes the same thing.” Prouvaire nudged him. “Anyway, it's nice to see you showing some confidence in your work. Oh, Enjolras, before I forget. We were thinking of combining the housewarming party for you and Feuilly with a celebration for you getting your promotion. I assume you won't object?”

Enjolras frowned. “I think we should just keep it a housewarming party. In that I didn't actually want to have one of those either, but Feuilly insisted.”

“This way you get stuff...” Grantaire said in a sing-song voice.

Enjolras swatted at his arm. “I'd rather spend my one night off that week quietly settling into my new apartment rather than have it overrun with house guests. I don't trust Courfeyrac. He's going to make it into a real party, when all I assented to was a small group of friends.”

“Enjolras, getting the promotion is a good thing. You should celebrate it,” Combeferre said. “But I believe the idea was raised because Courfeyrac wanted to invite some of your coworkers. They're actually very happy for you.”

“Except Louison.”

“Yes, well other than her. But the rest of them like you and they think you're going to be a good supervisor.”

“Eponine doesn't like me,” Enjolras pointed out.

“She respects you,” Prouvaire tried. “That's…kind of like liking you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I should get back to work. Do whatever you'd like about the party. If it isn't to my taste, I'll just head around the corner and spend the night at Grantaire's. It's a wonderful option to have, and I mean to avail myself of it as often as possible.”

Grantaire grinned up at him. “Love you too, babe. I'm probably going to get going in a little bit. See you tonight after close?”

“Of course.” Enjolras kissed the top of his head before heading back into the main room. Grantaire watched him go, smiling in a way that renewed the loud gagging noises from the other end of the table.

“Oh go fuck yourself, you jealous bastard.”

* * *

Grantaire was still fussing with boxes in the kitchen when he heard the front door open and close. He swore under his breath, and gave up on the possibility of everything looking nice before Enjolras walked into the room.

“R? Are you in the kitchen? If so, is some kind of meal imminent?”

Grantaire laughed. “I take it you're hungry?” And actually admitting it. Wasn't that a nice change of pace.

“I could eat. I...what's all this?” Enjolras frowned when he stepped into the room and saw the table, which was cluttered with shopping bags and a small pile of neatly arranged boxes.

“I meant to have this finished before you got home but time got away from me. It's your housewarming present. Ta-da...” He gave a weak wave of the hand to take in the assortment of objects, most of which were very practical things that an apartment shouldn't be without, but that Grantaire knew for a fact neither Feuilly nor Enjolras possessed. Plus cookbooks. Grantaire had gotten Enjolras three different cookbooks and a brand new recipe card box. He and Prouvaire had spent half an afternoon filling in the cards with the simplest recipes in their repertoires.

Come to think of it, most of what Grantaire had gotten for Enjolras and Feuilly was kitchen related.

“Grantaire, won't your parents be upset with you for spending so much money?”

“Nah. I talked to Mom about it first and she said it was fine. She was actually really bummed to hear that you were moving out so fast. I, uh...I mean I knew she was excited when she found out I had a real boyfriend, but apparently she's more invested in us being a thing than I realized.”

“Oh.” Enjolras' brow furrowed. “I'm not sure what to make of that.”

“Me neither, honestly.” Grantaire was aware that his mother's approval of Enjolras worked in his favor, but it was still weird. And he'd never been a fan of having any member of his family prying into his personal life. “It was a weird conversation. But anyway, she likes you, she was totally cool with me buying some stuff for your place to help you and Feuilly out, and she's glad you're not moving far away from me.”

Also, she wanted Grantaire to get a new roommate. It wasn't a terrible idea. Grantaire hadn't been lying when he'd told his mother having a roommate helped him when he got into a funk; he just hadn't realized how thoroughly she'd understood what he meant.

Grantaire grabbed the shopping bag with the cookbooks in them and shoved it into Enjolras' hands. “This is the most important part of the present. Almost everything else just kind of goes with it. I got you guys a good knife set, some basic pots and pans, a cutting board, a tea kettle, and anything else I thought you might need that I've never seen in Feuilly's place. And considering the dude's kitchen is like a microwave and a couple of bowls, it turned out to be a lot of crap.”

Enjolras looked through one of the books, mouth falling open and silently forming some of the words he was skimming. “You certainly have a lot of faith in me.”

“Enjolras, I'm sure I can teach you how to cook.”

He looked up from the book, lovely blue eyes widening in what was unmistakably an expression of relief. “Oh thank god. I was afraid for a minute that you expected me to figure this out on my own.”

“God, no. You still haven't managed to replicate my stir-fry, and that's like the easiest dish known to college student. I won't leave you on your own for this. I can swing by a few nights a week and help you cook something for supper. That's probably a good way to start, right?”

“Sounds good,” he said in a relieved whisper. “And I expect to see you more than a few nights a week. I've tried to make my reasons for moving out very clear to you. None of them involve wanting to see you less. And if you ever start having those troubling thoughts...that, like, I've started caring for you any less, or that I'm trying to avoid you...”

“I'll text you,” Grantaire promised.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I'm moving a block away from you. I expect to see you on my doorstep.”

“Yeah, I could do that instead.” Grantaire grinned. “Okay, so other than the kitchen stuff...I, uh, I know you didn't want me buying you clothes.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said, a hint of warning in his tone.

“So I did not,” Grantaire said quickly. “But I still think it's a good idea for you to start putting some of your personality and your expression back into your appearance. And since I was buying you a present anyway, uh, yeah. Jehan said it was a good idea to sneak in something personal, and he helped me pick this stuff out for you. I was way over my head when I tried by myself.” Grantaire held out the smallest shopping bag, which, incidentally, contained the most expensive items purchased. He and Prouvaire had spent an afternoon in Sephora getting all the fixings for killer smokey eye. Prouvaire had helped him find makeup that was not only high quality, but also ethically produced and vegan, since Enjolras was bound to be upset if he caught a whiff of animal testing.

Enjolras eyed the Sephora bag with decided interest, and as he took out the eyeshadow palettes and makeup brushes he showed signs of suppressed joy. His hand shook a little when he got to the Perversion glide on eyeliner pencil. “R...even when I wore makeup, I never had anything this nice before.”

“Oh fuck. That's right, you said you were a punky goth. Shit, I shouldn't have gotten the fancy shit.” Grantaire's stomach sank. He'd put an awful lot of time and effort into that outing without giving it nearly enough thought.

“No, it's...this is really nice. Thank you.” Enjolras set the bag on the table and leaned close for a kiss.

Grantaire indulged in the kiss for a moment, and then pulled away just far enough to speak. He bumped noses with Enjolras. “You sure it's okay? I saved the receipts. I can return it and get the makeup you actually like.”

“I like this stuff, R. Or, I'm sure I will. It just never occurred to me to go to a specialty store like that. I always just grabbed stuff from the convenience store by my school. My eyeliner was always smudgy and terrible. I'll probably need Jehan's help with this. But it's still wonderful. I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

“You could repay me by letting me buy you one really hot outfit.”

“Grantaire, no. You've spent enough of your parents' money on frivolous things.”

“Yeah, because my boyfriend is _completely_ frivolous.”

“Brat.” Enjolras kissed him again, and then went to the table and snatched up the Sephora bag. He started towards the bathroom with a spring in his step that was decidedly uncharacteristic after a long day of work. Grantaire had been considering starting their cooking lessons that night, but he didn't have the heart to call Enjolras back when he was that excited.

So instead he made a pasta dish for them, cleaned the kitchen, set the bowls on the coffee table in front of the couch, and was flipping through the Netflix browse screen before Enjolras finally emerged from the bathroom. “I take it you must have really liked the makeup, because that took you long enough.”

“I don't think I'll need Prouvaire's help. Would you say I've got this?”

Grantaire looked up, and suddenly his jeans felt a lot tighter. “Holy fucking shit.”

Enjolras grinned, which was the only way to make the vision in front of him any sexier. He'd changed out of his Musain polo into one of Grantaire's t-shirts, a ripped up, paint splattered Flogging Molly tee from at least two tours ago. His eyes were expertly lined in thick black pencil, which bled into a glittery mess of dark grays. It made his irises look like liquid metal.

With a slightly shaking hand, Grantaire grabbed a throw pillow and pulled it over his lap. “I am having a very inappropriate reaction. But no, you don't need Jehan's help with your makeup.” He could feel his face heating up. God, he felt like he was in high school again. How fucking pathetic...

Enjolras plopped down onto the couch next to Grantaire and grabbed his bowl of pasta. “You can just say you like it without being theatrical.”

“I'm not being theatrical!” Grantaire winced at the high pitch of his voice, and wondered at his ability to blush considering where all his blood was rushing. But he supposed it was a good thing Enjolras thought he was joking around, otherwise things might get tense. They'd yet to have any follow up conversations about their lack-of-sex life and he wasn't sure how Enjolras would react to him getting aroused. He kept his eyes focused on the television and tried to think of unsexy things.

Mabeuf trimming his nose hairs. What Grantaire's cartilage piercing had looked like when it got infected. What Enjolras' last attempt to cook scrambled eggs had looked like.

Okay, he felt slightly less adolescent. Grantaire took a slow, steady breath, and turned to face Enjolras, who was eying him with wary confusion. “S-sorry,” he stuttered out.

“Don't be. It's fine. I just...didn't expect that you would get genuinely turned on by a little eye makeup.”

“It's not just the makeup!” Grantaire waved his hand to encompass Enjolras' stupid sexy hair and the threadbare shirt that left little to the imagination. Not that Grantaire needed imagination, because he knew what the trim torso, yummy abs, and (whimper) the golden happy trail beneath it looked like. He'd been teased with that imagery before, and gotten to map out the landscape once or twice with his greedy hands while they were cuddling. “And no, I am sorry, because I'm being a shit.”

He was actually rather pissed at himself. Enjolras wanted to keep things non-sexual for awhile, and Grantaire had done his best to impress on Enjolras that he was absolutely fine with it. Going all Tex-Avery-cartoon-howling-wolf when Enjolras put on a little makeup was inexcusably shitty.

Enjolras eyed him blankly. “I should go wash my face.”

“Enjolras, no! You should wear the makeup and wear clothes you like. I'm a fucking adult. I've talked myself out of many an inconvenient boner.”

Enjolras' face scrunched up in adorable confusion, and then his eyes widened when he looked at the throw pillow. “Oh. Um...well, I don't...you're not really being a shit, actually. I guess it's kind of a compliment. But um...I wasn't trying to be seductive.”

“Yeah, I don't think you ever do it on purpose. It's okay though. I'll calm down in a sec. It was just kind of a shock. You look really good with eyeliner. And...I have this weird thing about you wearing my clothes, I guess.” And his face was totally heating up again. It's not like this was the first time Enjolras had put on one of his old t-shirts. He'd been taking Grantaire's clothes and using them as pajamas since the first day he'd lived with him.

Overall, Grantaire felt very much like he'd reverted to being a hormonal teenager, and he wasn't proud of himself. How was Enjolras going to believe him when he said they could go at his pace and he didn't mind abstinence? He couldn't believe he was fucking up already.

Then Enjolras leaned over and kissed his cheek. Grantaire chanced a look at him, found the sexy black lined eyes trained on him, and that they looked worried. “Can you tell me what's going on in your head? I think you might be making this situation into a bigger deal than it is. We're dating, and I've known since I met you that you're attracted to me. I don't find that in and of itself to be a problem.”

“I just...really don't want to make you uncomfortable. You've been through enough,” Grantaire mumbled in the vague direction of his feet.

Enjolras put his hand on Grantaire's chin and tilted his face back up so they were looking eye to eye again. “You've never done anything to make me conflate you with my rapist. I mean it, Grantaire. I feel perfectly safe when I'm with you. I trust you. Please, for the love of everything decent, think just a little bit better of yourself. I care about you very deeply. I hope that's not lost on you.”

“I, uh, I'm working on processing that.” He scrunched his face up. “How did this become a discussion of my shit?”

“I don't know. I barely understand why we're having...well I guess it's not really an argument. But anyway, in conclusion, I don't care if you get aroused sometimes when we're together. I trust you to manage yourself until I'm ready to be physical. Which, I assure you, I am working on. I'm very attracted to you too, you know.”

Grantaire laughed and shook his head. “You have the weirdest fucking taste in guys, Enjolras.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you.”

“...hey.”

Enjolras arched a brow. “Well what do you expect, when you leave me with so many openings?”

Grantaire laughed and lightly punched Enjolras' arm. “You get sassy when you goth up. I'm going to have to remember that.”

Enjolras cast another weary glance at the pillow and then scooched a little closer. “Can we cuddle yet? I desperately want to, but I don't want to be a tease.”

“You're not a tease. Yeah, we can cuddle. I'm...I'm fine.” Which was almost true. He was still embarrassed but also relieved. Enjolras had been so natural and just _him_ during the scolding. They were going to take things slowly, sure, but maybe it wouldn't be weird after all.

Enjolras leaned back against the arm of the couch and Grantaire rested against his chest. He put on some social justice documentary Enjolras had added to his Netflix list and closed his eyes, thinking he'd just zone out and enjoy the cuddles.

His attention got sucked in by discussions of gruesome lynchings and assaults on protestors. If he'd still needed anything to kill his boner, Enjolras' taste in television would have sufficed.

“This one's really good. Feuilly and I made plans to watch it with Combeferre next week.”

“Ah huh.” Grantaire shifted a little and tried to settle more comfortably in Enjolras' arms. “Next time we do this we're watching cooking shows.”

* * *

Fittingly, when Grantaire woke up the morning Enjolras was moving out, he was clinging to his boyfriend in a most pathetic manner. Enjolras was as far as he could move onto his side of the mattress, and it seemed entirely possible that he'd woken Grantaire up himself with an impatient prod of his icicle fingers.

“Morning, R.”

“M-morning.” Grantaire's first attempt at speech was muffled by Enjolras' neck. He scooched back a bit and stuck his tongue out so he could pick off a few strands of wavy gold hair. “Sorry.”

Enjolras sighed and then ran a hand through Grantaire's ridiculous bedhead. He was wearing a fond smile, so that was encouraging. “I know you don't want to dive right into your addiction with your therapist so perhaps you could talk about this at your first session? I'm sure there's some material for the counselor to work with in you literally clinging to me on the morning of a not terribly dramatic separation.”

“You're moving out.”

“We established from the get-go that my living here was temporary, and besides that, I'm moving around the corner. We're still going to see each other constantly.” Enjolras leaned closer and bumped their noses. “I promise, Grantaire. I'm still crazy about you. I want to see you as much as possible. Please believe me.”

“I...” Grantaire frowned. He'd started to say that he did believe Enjolras, but some dark corner of his mind didn't. Enjolras was right. He was taking this as a much bigger separation than it actually was. He was feeling it like a rejection.

But Enjolras didn't lie. Even Grantaire's broken brain couldn't come up with anything to counter that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I believe you. Um...be patient with me? This is fucking with me in really stupid ways.”

Enjolras smoothed a thumb over his cheek. “Okay. What do you need from me? Should I sleep over here for the first couple of nights?”

“I, I don't want to...no, you shouldn't go through any trouble or anything.”

“It's no trouble. I like being here with you. Actually, I do sleep rather well in this bed.” He paused, appearing to consider how much he actually wanted to say. Grantaire waited, and after a moment Enjolras continued. “I...I started having some problems with, like, sleep stuff once I left home. When I stayed at the shelter I understood perfectly well why I had a difficult time sleeping. It was loud, the cot was uncomfortable, and there were some guys staying there that I found incredibly off-putting. But I couldn't even sleep at Feuilly's, and I've never understood that. I was starting to fear that it had something to do with the assault, even though I wasn't having night terrors or anything like that. It's not exactly PTSD but there are some...I don't know. There's a weight and an anxiety that's difficult to explain, but whatever that weirdness is I don't have that here.” He twined their fingers together. “I find you very comforting.”

“Really.” Pleasing though it was to hear, Grantaire found it more than a little confusing. He wasn't sure he'd done anything to inspire that kind of confidence. “Why?”

“Well, you've always been excessively kind to me.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “One of the first things you said to me was that you wanted to respect my boundaries. Do you remember that? You were joking around with your friends, and I eavesdropped and got pissy because I was so oversensitive about everything right then, and I yelled at you and you immediately backtracked and made sure I was all right. Ever since I've known you, you've been looking out for me and trying to make sure I was okay. Even when I didn't give you any indication that there was a reason I acted the way I did.”

And Grantaire had thought he'd royally fucked up during that first conversation.

“Anyway, what I mean to say is you're wonderful and I love you. I'm going to take a shower, and then if you'd be so kind as to supervise me while I attempted to make scrambled eggs this morning, I think I might actually be able to get it right this time. Third time's the charm, right?”

“This will be the eighth time, actually.”

“...it can't have been that many.”

Grantaire held up his fingers as he ticked off memorable instances. “Soggy mush, smoke alarm, soggy mush part two, premature ketchup, cream instead of milk, shells galore, and the soggiest of soggy mushes. That makes today eight.”

“Your memory is really remarkable, you know that. Will you help me measure the milk this time?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Somehow they managed a thoroughly unremarkable breakfast, which was surely a sign that Enjolras was finally learning something about cooking, because Grantaire's head wasn't in it. They ate, lounged around for a bit, and then Enjolras left for work. Only this time when he left, he took his backpack with him. The things Grantaire had purchased were sitting in a box by the door.

“I'll see you later tonight.” Enjolras kissed him, and then he was gone and Grantaire was once more alone in his apartment, something he was highly reluctant to normalize for himself.

He texted Feuilly instead, asking when he was getting off work. Feuilly responded pretty quickly, even for a guy who was usually glued to his phone, that he'd taken the day off and was in the process of unpacking his shit. He invited Grantaire over, and thankful for the distraction, Grantaire tossed a couple of bottles into Enjolras' box, hefted it under his arm, and then headed out the door.

* * *

To Grantaire's great surprise, Feuilly was moving in by himself. When he got to the apartment building he found Feuilly dragging a piece of his disassembled bed up the stairs. Grantaire immediately set the box down in the entryway and went to grab the other end. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you skinny shit? Why didn't you ask any of the guys to help you move?”

“Rose was supposed to help, but she got stuck taking your grandmother to a doctor's appointment.”

“Okay, so why didn't you ask anyone else?”

Feuilly gave the headboard a sharp tug and Grantaire almost overbalanced. “I was going to ask Joly, but he's actually pretty useless. He always thinks he's got imaginary splinters or that my old books are going to have bedbugs or book lice or something. And, well...I didn't really want to bug your friends.”

“ _Our_ friends, Feuilly.”

Feuilly frowned. “I don't spend nearly as much time with the others as I do with you, R.”

“They'd still help you move. Come on, Bahorel's definitely someone you want to have around when you need heavy lifting done.”

“Look, the bed, the couch, and two bookcases are the only things I have that are a pain in the ass. Everything else is in little boxes, and I moved most of that last night. It's fine. I could do it on my own if I really had to, but I'm also not going to turn away your help. Now can we just carry this up the rest of these fucking stairs, please?”

Grantaire grumbled something under his breath about Enjolras and Feuilly having a lot in common, but he shut up and focused on getting the headboard around a tricky bend in the stairwell. They had a hell of a time getting it through the front door, but once they were inside it was pretty easy to maneuver it into Feuilly's bedroom. Grantaire was more relieved than he wanted to admit to see that the boxspring and the mattress were already inside.

They got the rest of Feuilly's furniture inside and then took a well-deserved break, plopped onto the couch that was sitting half in the front hall and half in the living room it was destined for. Grantaire took a bottle of wine from the box of Enjolras' things, took a gulp, and then offered it to Feuilly.

“No thanks. I'm going to stick with water for now. And take this fucking thing off. I know I habitually wear it, but it was a terrible plan during a move.” He tugged at something under his shirt, then hopped off the couch and went into his bedroom.

When he came back out he was wearing a baggier t-shirt. It was draped oddly over his chest. Grantaire watched him chug some water, wondering if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Feuilly noticed the staring, apparently, because he put a hand on his hip and rolled his eyes. “I know you've never seen me without a binder before, R, but really it's no reason to stare like that.”

“Wait, I've never seen you without a what?”

Feuilly frowned. “A binder. For my chest?” He cupped what was unmistakably a boob, and suddenly Grantaire felt more oblivious than Pontmercy. Feuilly laughed. “Oh my god. Did you not actually notice I was trans?”

“Um...”

“Jesus Christ, R. You've sat next to me at the Musain while we've been talking about trans issues. Did you just think I was a really good ally or something?”

“I guess I didn't think about it one way or the other. Wait. You're dating my sister.”

Feuilly smirked. “Indeed.”

“Rose is straight.”

“And I'm a man.”

“But you have boobs.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Something you only noticed today.” He sat down on the couch next to Grantaire and took another sip of water. “Look, if you really want me to I can talk to you a little bit about my sex life with your older sister, but I'm pretty sure that's a conversation neither of us actually want to have. Let me leave it at this. Rose is indeed straight and, like you, initially mistook me for a cis man. Which is honestly not something I'm used to. I get misgendered all the time, so thanks for that, I guess. But anyway, when we started to get a little heavier than flirting and I realized she wanted to sleep with me I told her I was trans. We cooled down for a bit, stuck to making out for awhile, and even after I left your house she was still texting me. She says she's attracted to me, so...yeah.” He shrugged. “I feel lucky, honestly. I've got a shitty record with dating cis people. They're usually determined to see me as a woman.”

“Dude, you do _not_ look like a woman.”

Feuilly beamed at him. “Thanks. I've been working hard on that with very little in the way of resources.”

“Are you on testosterone?” Grantaire asked, because he couldn't imagine Feuilly wasn't. He didn't quite have a beard, but he definitely had some scruff, and his face didn't have much in the way of feminine softness. Grantaire really had to look to see any hints of what Feuilly might have looked like pre-transition.

“I've been on T for a few years, yeah. It's expensive and I hate taking the shots, but it's so much better than dysphoria.”

“I'll bet. Uh...have I said anything insensitive yet?”

“Nah, we're good.” Feuilly squeezed his arm. “I still can't believe you thought I was cis. You are not allowed to tease Marius for being slow on the uptake anymore.”

“Yeah, guess not. Everyone else knows, don't they?”

“Yep. I'm a trans rights activist, R. Most of the guys have gone to demonstrations with me as allies. That's actually how I met Enjolras.”

Grantaire blinked a few times. “Wait, is Enjolras…?”

And then Feuilly doubled over laughing. Grantaire was tempted to smack him. “Shut up! He's pretty, okay? And it's not like I've actually seen him naked! Stop fucking laughing, Feuilly.”

“Sorry. I just...wow, I just changed your worldview, didn't I? You're not just going to take it for granted everyone you know is cisgender now, huh?” He giggled a little bit. “In case you need to hear it said, Enjolras is cis. Well, mostly. He's a smidge genderqueer but he never goes full femme. He gets a little agender sometimes though.”

“I know he likes makeup but I didn't even think of it as a gender identity thing. I mean, we're gay. Makeup didn't seem like a big deal.” Grantaire swore under his breath. “I already read up on asexuality for no reason. Now I've gotta look up whatever the fuck genderqueer is.”

“Hey, for all you know that reading on asexuality could come in useful someday. You might wind up with a buddy who's ace and appreciates the support. I'm almost ready to actually get the couch into the living room. You good?”

“Yeah, I guess I can start lifting things again.”

They positioned the couch by the window, and then Feuilly got right into unpacking his books. He moved a lot easier without the binder on, and didn't overheat again. Grantaire was a bit surprised when, after a few hours of unpacking boxes, he went into his room and came out again with a fitted v-neck t-shirt that made it very clear he was once more wearing a binder.

He caught Grantaire staring at him, but far from offended, he lifted up his shirt to show it off. Grantaire had never seen one before and, overcome by curiosity, walked over to take a look. If he had to give an opinion, he'd say the thing looked like the demon spawn of a sports bra and a corset. The material looked stiff and scratchy. It went partway down Feuilly's ribcage, leaving his stomach bare. “I've got a few full tank ones too, but I never wear those in the summertime. It's like an invitation to pass out.”

“It doesn't look very comfortable.”

“It's not, but until I win the lottery and can afford a top surgery it is necessary for my survival. Before I got a real binder I used to use ace bandages, which was a nightmare. I don't recommend that at all. When I got my first real one I was so stupid and happy to have it that I wouldn't take it off for like a week. I got a really horrible rash and screwed up my breathing. Enjolras threatened to take a pair of shears to it if I didn't take better care of myself, so I've been a good little boy since then. I always take them off after eight or nine hours and I never wear them to bed.”

“How much is top surgery?” It wasn't something Grantaire had ever considered before and he found himself curious, but all Feuilly answered was a dark, “too much,” and Grantaire thought it better to let the conversation drop.

He could always look it up on his own later. If Feuilly was willing to cause himself physical harm to avoid having a curvy chest, Grantaire wanted to do something to help. He could sympathize with not feeling comfortable in your body, albeit for different reasons. Between all of them, maybe they could find some way to raise the cash.

They were working on unpacking the kitchen when Enjolras got in from work. He tossed his backpack into his otherwise empty bedroom and then joined them in the kitchen. “You guys just finished my only box. I'm already unpacked.”

Grantaire frowned. “Do you have a bed?”

“Have you seen me go out and buy one?”

Feuilly balled up a piece of newspaper he'd used to wrap one of his coffee mugs for transport and threw it at Enjolras' head. “You don't have a bed? Where were you going to sleep?”

“The floor. But Grantaire's not rushing me out. I'll sleep at his place for a few more nights. And...maybe a few more after that. I'm guessing your bed's a lot more comfortable than the used one Jehan secured for me. It used to belong to some elderly relative of his.”

Feuilly rubbed at his eyes. “You're bringing a dead person's bed into this apartment? Oh for fuck's sake, Enjolras.”

“Oh don't tell me you think it's haunted too!” Enjolras was clearly about to go off on some skeptic tirade, but Feuilly threw another wadded up ball of newspaper at his face and shouted over him.

“Of course I don't think the bed is evil, but Prouvaire does and that's why he wants you to take it! Now he's going to come over with his sage and his crystals and do an exorcism!”

Enjolras frowned at the completely valid point. “Well I'm still taking the free bed.”

Grantaire grinned, amused that Feuilly and Enjolras still thought of Prouvaire and the others as Grantaire's friends, despite the fact that they understood their quirks and eccentricities in a way only true friends would. He wondered how much longer it would take for them to notice how fully integrated into the group they were. Joly wasn't having those kinds of problems.

Then again, Joly had lived a charmed life in comparison to the two young men tossing bits of newspaper at each other in front of him. Grantaire reminded himself how difficult a time _he_ had believing his friends liked him, and decided against giving them shit over it.

He ended the newspaper fight by coming up behind Enjolras and pulling him into a hug. “You are perfectly welcome to use my non-haunted bed for as long as you need it. I recommend staying at least a week after the saging, and make sure you keep the windows open in your room so that your stuff can air out. That shit smells nasty.”

Grantaire couldn't help but smile, relieved that he didn't have to entirely relinquish his boyfriend yet. Enjolras had said something about sharing a bed helping him with insomnia issues, and the feeling was definitely mutual. Though how Grantaire was any help to Enjolras still confused him. He flailed around in his sleep, snored, and startled awake with sudden shouts at odd hours of the night. He knew for a fact he was a terrible bed partner, emotional reasons aside.

Grantaire showed Enjolras around the unpacked kitchen while Feuilly bounced around the apartment, unpacking a few odds and ends. He tacked up two massive pride flags in the living room, a rainbow one and a trans one, and threw a pointed look Grantaire's way. “Oh shut up.”

“Did I miss something?” Enjolras asked.

“You boyfriend thought I was cis,” Feuilly said, then broke down into giggles.

Enjolras shrugged. “So did Combeferre, if I remember correctly. Almost none of the Musain kids clocked you.”

“No, Enj. Grantaire _still_ thought I was cis. Like, as of today. I took my binder off when we were moving in the furniture and you should have fucking seen his face.” Feuilly patted his chest. “The kid had _no idea_ there were boobs under here.”

Enjolras walked over to Feuilly and flicked his Red Sox hat off his head. “You fucking idiot! Why were you moving furniture with your binder on to begin with?”

“You would fixate on that, wouldn't you?”

“Well it's valid! Besides, Grantaire never participates in our queer rights discussions and he doesn't pry.” Enjolras turned to look at his boyfriend. “I'm honestly surprised you know how any of your friends identify.”

“I can't tell if I'm being insulted or complimented.”

“You're very different from your family in that regard, I'll put it that way,” Feuilly said with a dry smirk.

Grantaire frowned. “Wait. Do my parents know you're trans?”

“God, I hope not.” Feuilly winced. “Do you think they'd be okay with it?”

“Oh absolutely fucking not. But that might make you more attractive to Rose. She kinda gets off on the whole Mom and Dad hating her boyfriends thing.” Grantaire sat down on the couch and looked up at the pride flags. “So what...should I be grilling everyone on their gender and sexuality? Because I always thought of that stuff as a none-of-your-fucking business sort of deal.”

“It comes up when we're talking about social politics. You know, since we're talking about our rights and our lives in that case,” Enjolras said. “For the record, I'm genderqueer.”

“Feuilly mentioned that. And he was even good enough to tell me what it meant.”

“I also loaned him a few books,” Feuilly added. He was in the process of taping up a poster of a chubby brown haired girl with the slogan 'Your worth isn't measured by how well you “pass” as a girl or boy' on it.

Grantaire had definitely seen the rainbow flag in Feuilly's old place but he was pretty sure he'd never seen that poster or the trans flag before. “Your decorating scheme is making me feel Pontmercy level dense again. Have you always had that stuff?”

Feuilly had turned his attention to an IWW banner he was trying to tack into place by a bookcase. “The flag was a housewarming present from Prouvaire and I had the poster in my room. The rainbow flag was over my couch in the old place too though. I got that one back in high school the first time I went to a Pride parade. Hold on, I think I've got a picture somewhere.” Feuilly went into his room and came out again a few minutes later with a tacky novelty friendship frame. He handed it to Grantaire and then plopped down on the couch next to him. “That's me when I was fifteen.”

All things told, the younger Feuilly didn't look terribly different. His face was softer and his curly brown hair was longer. In this case, it was hidden by a rainbow beanie instead of the habitual Red Sox hat. He was wearing an incredibly baggy tie dyed t-shirt and had his arm flung around a timid looking boy who was holding up one end of the rainbow flag. It took Grantaire a second to recognize the wide eyed little teen as Joly. His hair was bright magenta, which was not a fashion statement that fit with his current sense of style. There were two more teens in the picture, a stylish looking goth boy with a rainbow flag painted on his cheek, and a preppy looking blond that did not look at all in place at a Pride event.

“The goth kid's named Montparnasse. I'd met him at our GSA and then fell out of touch with him before graduation. He seemed kind of sketchy, honestly, but I guess the Thenardier sisters know him and...really, that doesn't make him less sketchy. Never mind. That other one was my first boyfriend. Isn't he hot?”

“The prep?” Grantaire looked down at the picture again and then back at Feuilly, sure he was pulling his leg. “He...doesn't seem like your type.”

“He was as dumb as a bag of rocks,” Enjolras said.

“They didn't get along,” Feuilly stage-whispered. “It was a short-lived relationship. Theo was very pretty but not much else, and I wasn't his type of girl, really.” Feuilly laughed. “Go figure. Yeah, that was the first cis person to break up with me over gender roles. And he wouldn't be the last. I wonder sometimes how long Rose is going to stick it out. She's already lasted way longer than I expected her to.”

Grantaire almost said something about how surprised he was too, considering Feuilly had the wrong equipment for her preferences. Thankfully, he wasn't that drunk yet and he managed to keep a lid on that impulse. So far he was reasonably confident he hadn't said anything stupid that would make Feuilly hate him but he also knew he was not nearly sensitive and informed enough to talk about trans-ness without stumbling into foot-in-mouth territory. He wouldn't be surprised if his fucking mouth cost him his friendship with Feuilly...and probably Enjolras as well.

Thankfully, as the unpacking was pretty much finished Feuilly suggested they head down to the Musain to see if any of their friends were gathered and treat themselves to something high calorie as a reward for all the exercise. Enjolras groaned, since he'd just left work, but did admit that that's where their friends were congregated. Liking the idea of getting out of the small apartment and adding more people to the mix as a buffer for his inevitable awkwardness, Grantaire seized on a solution.

“Let's go to the Corinth, then. You're twenty one now. Even if they do card, you can still get in.”

Enjolras hesitated. “From the way you've all described it, it doesn't sound like my sort of hang out.”

“Don't let Joly's opinion of dive bars sway you too much, Enj. The health code violations are part of the fun.” Feuilly clapped a hand on his back. “As long as we're not too extravagant with drinks, I'm down.”

“Don't worry, dude. It's nearly impossible to be extravagant there. They're not that kind of bar.”

* * *

Somehow, the night ended with a massive sleepover at Grantaire's apartment. His memory got a little fuzzy a few hours into celebratory drinks with his friends, but he sort of remembered inviting everyone to his place since he had good hangover food for the morning.

At any rate, when he woke up there were three extra people in bed with him. Bahorel was sleeping on his stomach, perpendicular to everyone else, with a pillow plopped over his head, likely in a failed attempt to muffle his snores. Courfeyrac was cuddling Grantaire like a teddy bear, which was surprisingly pleasant. Grantaire was on Enjolras' side of the bed, and Feuilly was sleeping in a fetal position in Grantaire's usual spot, faced away from everyone and occasionally giving Bahorel a sharp kick. Feuilly's binder was hanging from the headboard and he was wearing Courfeyrac's sweatshirt over his t-shirt.

Grantaire managed to disentangle himself from Courfeyrac, who rolled over to Feuilly and latched onto him instead, and he stumbled for the bathroom. He was grateful that he'd never had shy bladder, since Bossuet was sleeping in the tub with a body pillow and the cat blanket that usually adorned the couch in the living room. Grantaire finished his business, brushed his teeth to combat the vile taste in his mouth, and then stumbled out to the living room.

Prouvaire and Combeferre were sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor, looking adorable and almost as though they'd been posed. Grantaire was ninety percent sure real human beings didn't look that cute when they were asleep, even if they were blissfully in love with each other. Pontmercy was stretched over the couch, having kicked the blankets off while he slept, stripped down to his boxers for sleep. Grantaire looked over the tempting and toned young body, and felt a stab of sympathy for poor Courfeyrac, though he still felt the guy was an idiot for inviting the perky, daydreaming nudist into his home to begin with.

He was still short a few friends, so Grantaire continued on into the kitchen, where he found Enjolras successfully cooking scrambled eggs all by himself while Joly was making coffee. There were a couple of girls sitting at the kitchen table. Grantaire blinked a few times, as he had no memory whatsoever of seeing anyone but his guy friends the previous night, then he took another look and nodded at Eponine. He was pretty sure he didn't know the pretty girl with the glossy chestnut hair though.

“I am heartily surprised you're the next person to wake up,” Enjolras said by way of greeting. He nodded towards the counter, where an army of water bottles and some aspirin were waiting. Grantaire downed the pills and then snuck up behind Enjolras and kissed his cheek.

“Hey, lookit you cooking edible eggs all by yourself.”

“God, Grantaire, you say that like scrambling eggs is some kind of accomplishment,” Eponine said with a laugh. Enjolras pointedly kept his back to the kitchen while the others laughed.

The pretty girl conversed with Grantaire as though they were already well acquainted. He was reasonably practiced at that sort of thing, so he was able to pretend he knew her until general conversation clued him in. Over the course of breakfast with much joking around about the previous night, Grantaire learned that her name was Cosette, she was Eponine and Azelma's ex-foster sister, and that she was dating Pontmercy.

Everyone started drifting out around noon, and once his apartment was free of hungover college students Grantaire asked Enjolras about the girls.

“Oh, Courfeyrac called Eponine partway through the night. Which is fucking bullshit, I might add, because they carded me but they didn't card Eponine and Cosette and they're still in fucking high school.”

“Oh, Eponine does go to school?”

“Well, no, but the point is she's actually younger than me.” Enjolras scowled. “I can't believe the bartender thought I was fourteen. I get that I look young, but _fourteen_?”

Grantaire laughed. “Eh, it's all that clean living. Drink like me for a few weeks and see if that ages you up.”

“Nope. I'm sticking by my teetotaler life. By the by...what time's your appointment?”

Grantaire scowled. “Two. I can give you a ride to work if you want.”

Enjolras made an iffy motion with his hand. “I think I can handle the walk. Plus I need to head home first so I can shower and change.”

Grantaire felt a lump form in his throat. “Right.”

“R...” Enjolras framed Grantaire's face with his hands and kissed him. It was a nice enough kiss, but he looked worried when he pulled away. “I really hope you're going to take full advantage of these sessions. Please, open up and talk to your therapist. I'd like it if...that is, it'd be really nice if you felt as secure about me as I do about you.”

“I...it's, um.” Grantaire had no idea what to say to that.

“I'm not taking it personally.” Enjolras gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I hate seeing you so anxious all the time, especially about me. You have nothing to worry about. I know that doesn't make the worrying stop, but I'm hoping if I keep repeating it, it might help you a little.”

“It does.” Crap. He hadn't really considered how that must feel on Enjolras' end. Knowing your boyfriend regularly convinced himself that you felt he was worthless crap couldn't have been pleasant. “Um...I'm going to, look I don't want to promise anything I can't do, okay? But I'm going to try. I do honestly want to be better than I am.”

“I'd be perfectly satisfied with you as you are if you were happier,” Enjolras said. “That's all I want to see changed. I want you to be better for your own sake, okay?”

Grantaire nodded. “I get it.” Since he was having a pretty good day, anyway. His mind might twist that around at some point in the future though.

Enjolras kissed him again, and the lump in his throat and the lurching in his gut felt a lot less insistent. The anxiety didn't go away entirely, of course, but it calmed the fuck down. Enjolras was so very good at that.

* * *

The therapy session was pretty uneventful, considering how much psychic weight Grantaire had given to it. His therapist was a pleasant young woman who'd simply asked him a few basic questions so they could get to know each other. She wanted to know what he was looking to accomplish, and had laughed when he said he was there because his boyfriend said he had to be.

“So this wasn't your idea?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, it's not a bad idea. I know I'm fucked up. But I was kind of content to just drink away my demons for now. I'm still in college. It's not really frowned upon at this stage. It's when I get responsibilities that I need to worry, right?”

“How does your boyfriend respond to your deflective humor and irony?”

Grantaire smirked. “I think you're smart enough to figure that out.”

“Well, it doesn't sound like you're exactly averse to working with me, but since right now you're following your boyfriend's cues, what does _he_ want you to get out of this?”

Grantaire frowned. “I know he wants me to drink less.”

“Ah.” She typed up some notes on her laptop. “Are you worried about your drinking?”

“Um...not really. I think I probably should be though. Also, um...Enjolras said he wants me to be happy. He doesn't think I am right now and...he's right.”

She made a few more notes. “We'll unpack that later, I think. So for your care plan I have that we want to tackle your alcohol dependency, self-esteem, and you said you've got some insomnia, depression, and anxiety. How do we feel about medication? Do you want to explore that or would you prefer to focus on other coping mechanisms first?”

Grantaire's brows knit together in confusion. “I'd thought pills were an assumed part of this.”

“They can be. It's up to you, Grantaire. You're in charge of everything we do here.”

“Oh. Well in that case, since I've already got addictive tendencies I think we should probably give this a go without the happy pills for now.”

She added a few more notes and nodded. “That sounds very reasonable. Okay Grantaire, I've got some homework for you this week. You said you've got low self-esteem but you also strike me as a very intelligent young man, and I'm sure other people have noticed this about you. Plus from what you've said you have a very supportive partner. I want you to practice positive self-talk. Anytime you feel yourself starting to slip into negative thought patterns, remind yourself that it's just your illness talking and consciously redirect yourself. It's going to be difficult at first but it does get easier with time. You can do this privately if it's more comfortable but I do suggest you let Enjolras know about your homework and see if he'll help you. Does that sound like something you can do?”

“That sounds really simple.” And by simple he meant ineffectual and pointless.

The therapist seemed to pick up on what he was thinking. “Just give it a solid effort and see what it does for you. It's just for one week. If it doesn't help, we'll try a different approach next week, okay?”

“Okay.”

When Enjolras got home from work that night he reluctantly told him about his homework. Enjolras looked a bit puzzled but quickly agreed to help. Grantaire prodded him a little about the funny look and he sighed.

“It just seems...well, obvious. Is the positive self-talk actually going to be all that new for you? I'd think you'd have already been trying to combat the invasive negative thoughts you have.”

Grantaire was notably silent.

Enjolras sighed and playfully tugged his hair. “Okay, in that case I think it's an excellent strategy and I'm fully prepared to tell you you're wonderful several times a day. Ooo...I like this being homework. That means you can't tell me off when I compliment you.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes in dislike. “This assignment sucks.”

“This assignment is my new favorite thing. You look nice today, you know. You should wear that shirt more often. It's very flattering.”

“Hey, positive self-talk does not mean lying about my fucking appearance!” It was supposed to be lying about his character and intelligence.

Enjolras pulled him into a hug. “You're absolutely adorable when you get all huffy like that.”

Fuck. Grantaire had said almost the same thing to Enjolras at least a hundred times since they'd known each other. Enjolras was wearing an infuriatingly smug grin when he kissed Grantaire's cheek. “This is fun.”

“You're terrible sometimes, you know that?”

“Yes, you've mentioned that a few times.”

“Hey...did you wear your makeup to work?” Grantaire traced his finger along Enjolras' cheekbones, but he was really looking at his eyes. It was a pointless question, as Enjolras was very obviously wearing glittery black eyeliner and had possibly defined his brows as well. “How'd that go over?”

“Eponine was a menace, and I got leered at by a few more customers than usual, but otherwise it was fine. And you were right. I did feel more like myself and was a bit more comfortable working the register for it.”

Grantaire was wearing a goofy little smile over that when they went to the bathrooms to get ready for bed (Enjolras always used the one by the living room when he was over, while Grantaire got ready in the master bedroom). He was still feeling reasonably good about himself when Enjolras flopped onto the bed next to him, wearing Grantaire's pajamas, his face tinged faintly pink from scrubbing the makeup off.

“My therapist likes you, by the way. She said you sound like a really supportive partner.”

“Really?” Enjolras leaned up on his elbows, a pleased look on his face. “I've always felt like I bully you and set off your anxiety.”

“Eh, sometimes I get anxious but it's not really your fault. And you've been really good about noticing and making sure you get across what you actually mean instead of letting me reconstruct your words into a world of horrors. I agree with her, you know. You're like the best thing that ever happened to me.” Which was why he was so scared of fucking everything up. Now that he'd had this experience of feeling loved and valued by someone he cared about and respected so much, he couldn't imagine going back to his lonely, miserable life. It was quite possible he wouldn't survive losing Enjolras.

“Yeah?” Enjolras looked almost shy, which was an odd look for him.

“Yes, you twit. You're fucking perfect and I love you and this is pretty much everything I've ever wanted.” Grantaire snuggled close to Enjolras and contentedly tucked his head just under Enjolras' chin, intending to take full advantage of the privacy afforded by his lonely apartment to be unforgivably cutesy and saccharine.

“Pretty much...” Enjolras repeated. He distractedly carded his fingers through Grantaire's hair.

Grantaire tensed up a little. “That's not what I meant. However you're taking it, it's not...look, I'm ridiculously happy with you.” _He_ was the one who was the mess, not Enjolras.

An uncomfortable silence descended on them. Grantaire rested his head on Enjolras' chest and tangled their legs together. Enjolras was holding him and playing with his hair, which felt nice, but the atmosphere had changed and they both knew it.

Though highly reluctant to do so, Grantaire decided to come out and say it. “You're worrying about the sex thing again, aren't you?”

“Of course I am,” Enjolras said simply.

Grantaire scowled and scooched back a bit. He dropped his head on the pillow next to Enjolras so that they were facing each other, just a couple inches of space between them. “I wish you wouldn't.”

“I can't help it.” Enjolras lowered his gaze. “It's...dammit. We're just going to say the exact same things we did last time. My feelings haven't changed. I still feel like I'm not enough for you. Like you deserve more. I mean, how much hope do I ever have of conveying how much I trust you and how much I love you when I freeze up unexpectedly when you touch me? You have issues with rejection and abandonment, and I'm reinforcing them.”

“Nope.” Grantaire smoothed back a strand of wavy yellow hair. “You're not reinforcing any of that shit, Enjolras. You got me into therapy so I'd fucking face my issues instead of drowning them in booze. Besides, you have every right to your discomfort. I don't mind taking things slowly, or even if things stay exactly the way they are now.” He leaned in for a gentle kiss. “I like this.”

“Me too,” Enjolras whispered. “I...I mean, I like this. I like where we are but um...I don't want...I don't want it to stay this way forever.” He closed his eyes. “I want to be _with_ you. I want to get over this...this block I have, and I really want to have sex with you.”

“Okay.” Grantaire shifted a little, and carefully placed his hand on Enjolras' hip. He slowly splayed out his fingers, carefully watching Enjolras for any sign of reaction. His eyes locked with Grantaire's, and there was some vulnerability there, but he didn't look upset. “We're usually pretty, like, well not chaste exactly when we kiss and stuff, but yeah...it's really gentle. Which is cool, y'know. No complaints. But I could, like...kiss you a little harder and see how you do? Or am I misreading this completely? Because no pressure. We don't have to do anything tonight, or even this month, or this y-”

He was cut off from his rambling by Enjolras surging forward and locking their lips together. Only with Enjolras' insistent tongue in his mouth did Grantaire finally appreciate how very much his boyfriend wanted to be physical with him, and for the first time it occurred to him that Enjolras was sexually frustrated by the situation as well, quite possibly more than Grantaire himself was.

At any rate, Grantaire was moaning like an idiot in no time. He found himself clinging to Enjolras, fingers clawing against the fabric of his t-shirt while their kisses grew deeper and even a bit desperate. Enjolras tugged on Grantaire's hair, and he discovered that he liked that. He also liked the way Enjolras was biting his lower lip. And he _really_ liked how breathy Enjolras sounded when he moaned his name.

In fact, after barely five minutes of that nonsense he was struggling to hide how much he was enjoying himself while urging Enjolras to continue. He tried to angle his waist away from Enjolras, but the boy was doing his best impression of a boa constrictor. Inevitably, Enjolras noticed Grantaire's erection while they were making out. He broke a wet and messy kiss and glanced downwards, eyes caught on Grantaire's tented pajama pants.

“S-sorry.”

“Don't apologize. I'm hard too,” Enjolras said. He shivered a little, and then hid his face in Grantaire's shirt. “That's normal when you're making out with a gorgeous man you're mad for, right?”

“Um...wait, was that about me?” Grantaire felt dazed. “Yeah, yes. This is normal. You okay?”

“I feel so many different things right now that I'm having a difficult time telling. I think so.” He leaned up and pressed a quick, close mouthed kiss to Grantaire's lips. “Yes. I know I am. Your lips are all red. It almost looks like you're wearing Prouvaire's cherry lip gloss.”

“Your lips are red too.” Grantaire ran his thumb over Enjolras' chin. “And I think I gave you some beard burn with my stubble. You're so fucking beautiful, Enjolras.”

“So are you. Shut up and let me say it. You don't get to decide how I feel about you or your looks. You're beautiful and I'm very turned on right now and I have no idea what to do about it.” His eyes looked very wide and the vulnerability from earlier was back, increased in intensity. “I don't know what to do. R, what are we doing? We were supposed to just be kissing.”

“Okay, it's okay. You're fine.” Grantaire ran his hands down Enjolras' sides, slowly and soothingly. “We'll do whatever you want to do. We can stop right now if you want.”

“I don't...” Enjolras' voice shook. “I don't know. I...I think I need you to take the lead right now. I don't know what to do.”

Grantaire took a slow, steadying breath and switched to rubbing Enjolras' back. “Okay. Talk to me, though. You sound like you're scared. Are you?”

“I, yeah. A bit. I don't...I shouldn't be-”

“But if you are that's okay. I'm not mad. We were just supposed to be kissing, like you said. We don't need to go any further than that.” As a matter of fact, Grantaire was determined not to. Nothing quite killed an erection like seeing the love of your life start to move towards a panic attack.

He held Enjolras in a comparatively gentler embrace than how they'd started, kissing him occasionally and whispering soothing nonsense to him until he calmed down. It didn't take long for Enjolras to get less panicky, but then he was very clearly embarrassed and frustrated with himself.

“Well that went like utter shit,” he said. He flung himself against a pillow, his unnecessary apology swallowed by the material.

Grantaire ran a soothing hand down his back. “It wasn't that bad, Enjolras. You got nervous. It happens. Hell, it happens even without a history of trauma. If I weren't so damn concerned about you I'd probably be the one freaking out because my insecurities would be wreaking havoc with my performance, and it'd go all self-fulfilling prophecy. Which, granted is nothing like what you're going through, and I'm a fucking asshole for even making that comparison. Shit. Enj, are you okay? Will you look at me please?”

Enjolras rolled onto his side away from Grantaire. “I was the one being stupid. You suggested we just try to deepen the kisses a little, but I've been so frustrated by this and it was fine at first, so I tried to push my comfort a little. We should have stuck to kissing.”

“Enjolras, it is absolutely fi-”

“No it's fucking not!” He hugged a pillow to his chest. “I should be able to make out with my fucking boyfriend, and feel his erection without thinking about god damn Uncle Felix. This is thoroughly unfair and fucking bullshit. When I'm with you, I just want to focus on you. I want to bury everything else as far in my psyche as it will go. I don't want any of that history to poison this.”

“Enj?” Grantaire hesitantly touched Enjolras' shaking shoulder. He was slowly able to coax Enjolras to turn around, and to his horror, Enjolras' cheeks were wet with tears. “I'm sorry.” He wanted better words, but nothing would come. “I'm so, so sorry.”

“Me too.” Enjolras let go of the pillow, clung to Grantaire instead, and broke down into sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I don't know when my head-canon for Feuilly turned into a bisexual trans Wobbly but I'm not fighting it. Also, Grantaire's opinion of chest binders comes from me. They are not my favorite thing, and I'm grateful my gender dysphoria is minor and generally appeased with vests and sports bras.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks, but at least the new chapter is long!
> 
> Heads up, this one's pretty heavy. Enjolras and Grantaire discuss the sexual assault, and they're not the only boys angsting in this chapter.

The sobbing didn't last very long. As uncomfortable and awful as that had been, what followed was infinitely worse.

Enjolras went rigidly still in Grantaire's arms. Grantaire tried to reposition himself a little, an instinctual reaction more than anything. He didn't honestly think Enjolras had quieted down and tensed up because they were sitting at an awkward angle. He just really wanted his boyfriend to relax into the embrace if he was going to start to calm down, but Enjolras very clearly wasn't calming down. He was shutting down, and that was the last thing Grantaire wanted to see.

“Enj...is everything...well, everything's shit right now, but can you talk to me a little?” He slowly trailed his hand down Enjolras' back, and Enjolras flinched and pulled away. He kept his head down, and retreated to the other end of the bed.

“I need a minute. I'll, I'll be right back.” He got up, fled for the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Grantaire remained sitting by the headboard. He dropped his forehead onto his knees and tried to focus on his breathing. He was starting to feel panicky.

He really wasn't up to this. He was going to say or do the wrong thing. Enjolras was going to go from distancing himself because of his delusion that Grantaire deserved better, to distancing himself because he'd see what a pathetic, selfish waste Grantaire was. Fuck, why was he making this about him? His boyfriend was in the bathroom, freaking out and traumatized, and Grantaire was _still_ worrying about getting dumped and feeling inadequate.

If Enjolras did end up dumping him, he'd fucking deserve it.

He hugged his knees tighter and tried to steady his breathing but if anything it kept getting more rapid. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He needed to get it together. Enjolras had said he needed a minute. What if that was literal? What if he came back from the bathroom and found Grantaire being an incoherent mess while he still needed support?

Fucking hell. How was he going to support Enjolras through this? He couldn't take care of his own, comparatively minor issues. What use could he possibly be in this situation? Enjolras was going to dump him for sure. No, he wasn't supposed to be thinking about that because that was a shitty, self-centered perspective to take. Like Enjolras dumping him was the worst thing to dwell on at the moment.

Grantaire managed to get to his feet. His breathing was still worryingly shallow, but on the plus side it wasn't panicky enough to be loud. If he kept going, he'd be making those god awful gasping noises though. Enjolras would definitely hear those from the other side of the bathroom door. And his chest was starting to hurt in a very particular and very familiar way. Grantaire hugged his arms, fingernails digging into the fleshy parts with a grounding pain, and made his way to the kitchen.

He needed a drink. Enjolras didn't want him to drink when he was upset like this but he needed something to calm his nerves. Just a quick shot of whiskey. Something to make him feel a bit steadier.

“Grantaire? Where did you go?” Enjolras' voice sounded from the hallway. He sounded a little scratchy. He'd cried for barely two minutes, and very quietly at that, but somehow he sounded like he'd been screaming for hours. Grantaire tried to shove the whiskey bottle back into the pantry but he wasn't quick enough. Enjolras walked into the kitchen while he was still fumbling to get the cap back on.

“Oh.” Enjolras remained in the doorway, face worryingly blank. Grantaire wished he would say something but he just stood there, eyes reddened and puffy, posture defeated.

“It's just...” Grantaire couldn't think of anything to say either. The chest pain was getting worse.

“I'm sorry. I should have...” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have controlled myself. I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that. It's not fair, especially not when you're supposed to be going to me for support right now. I'm really sorry, Grantaire.”

“What? No, don't...that's...that's not what happened.” Grantaire knocked over about half the bottles on the alcohol shelf in the pantry in his haste to get rid of the whiskey and cross the room to Enjolras. “You do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself, got it? Don't w-worry about me.”

“Grantaire, you're shaking and you're breathing very fast.”

“Yeah, I'm a mess. We both know that, don't we? Besides, sometimes my brain just does this to me for no reason at all. I might as well get set off for a solid reason once in a while.” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras' hand and gave it a tight squeeze. He needed to figure out a way to help Enjolras get this. Grantaire's damage was _not_ his fault and definitely not a reason to feel ashamed about his own trauma. “D-don't feel bad for this. S'not your fault, okay? I'm just...just me. I still want to try to help you even though I probably can't. You can still talk to me when you need to. O-okay?”

“If you say so.” Enjolras squeezed his hand back. “What can I do to help?”

“Dunno. I-I usually either go running, or drink myself stupid when it comes on like this. I think-I think I've just got to ride through the nerves this time. I mean, if I'm not going to drink. Hold on. I'm going to pace, at least.”

Enjolras remained standing in the doorway and watched with a forlorn look on his face while Grantaire circled the kitchen island a good fifteen times. He shook out his hands, then sat down in the center of the kitchen floor and hugged his knees to his chest. “So how are you?”

That startled a nervous sounding laugh out of Enjolras. “Truthfully? I kind of want to throw up but I don't think I've eaten enough today to accomplish it. Can I hug you yet or are you still too jittery?”

“Oh, a hug sounds really good right now.” Grantaire climbed to his feet and the next thing he knew he was being held to Enjolras' chest about as tightly as he'd been hugging his knees a second ago. It wasn't gentle and it wasn't soothing at all, and yet he still felt much better for it.

“I'm sorry I made you panic,” Enjolras mumbled.

“My broken brain made me panic, not you. Enj...I'm freaking out because I'm worried about you, and I'm worried about you because I care about you. I love you so much, and I want you to be happy and whole and feel safe. So, so don't, like, shut down on me, okay? I don't want you to hold shit back because you're afraid you'll set me off again. This is just how I am, and I've got a professional who's working with me on that but you're on your own and you...you shouldn't have to do it alone. So please let me help, even though I suck at it.”

Enjolras stroked back some of Grantaire's hair and kissed his forehead. “You're selling yourself short, you know. Okay, I won't shut down on you. But I think we should be finished talking about traumatic things for tonight. I'll...I'll try opening up again later. Maybe tomorrow night, or in a few days. You need to calm down first.”

“Kay.” Grantaire closed his eyes and rested his head on Enjolras' shoulder. Enjolras carded his fingers through Grantaire's hair, and it felt really nice. He focused on that, and after a few minutes the chest pain went away entirely. He felt oddly hollow, and as drained as if he'd been for one of his long runs, the ones he did to punish himself. But he was coming down. That might actually have been a record. Usually once the panic started it stuck around for at least a few hours. “You're magic.”

“And you're endearingly sentimental sometimes. But don't worry, I won't tell the guys at the Musain. Are you really feeling better? I don't want you pretending just to make me happy.”

“I swear, I'm better.” Grantaire placed Enjolras' palm over his heart. “That was going like a mile a minute earlier.”

“Your breathing certainly isn't as rapid as it was.” Enjolras made a satisfied hum, but kept his hand where it was. “What would you like to do now?”

Grantaire grinned. “I think you know me well enough to figure that out.”

“Indeed.”

Enjolras kept a hand resting either against the small of Grantaire's back or grazing his hip while they walked down the hall to the bedroom. They climbed into bed together, pulled the blankets around them and pulled up a show to marathon on the television.

While he snuggled against his amazing coffee scented boyfriend, Grantaire reflected on how much he and Enjolras had in common. It still seemed odd to him, since they handled their demons so differently and had such different personalities and temperaments. But they understood their differences and they knew how to work with them. Enjolras got him in a way that no one else had. There was a comfort in being known, in being the other side of this boy's coin. For once, Grantaire didn't feel fear or pressure to live up to the expectations of the person he was with. He was content just to be, and knew he was cared about despite all his flaws and anxieties.

* * *

“Holy shit, Jehan. Did you actually get that thing into the truck by yourself?”

“Of course not. My cousin helped.” Prouvaire held up his arm and flexed his bicep in an unnecessary demonstration of its near uselessness. It's not that he wasn't in shape. Truthfully, Prouvaire was probably the healthiest of any of them. He was moderate in his drinking, favored fruits and veggies, and liked to take long, contemplative walks to help with his anxiety. None of that translated to upper body strength though.

Feuilly edged past Grantaire and Prouvaire and got a hand on the massive headboard of Enjolras' hideous new bed. “God damn, this is going to be even trickier to get upstairs than mine was. Can we call Enjolras out of work? He should be here helping.”

“You really think Enj is going to make a difference?” Grantaire asked with a snort. “I'm still down with calling Bahorel in. And Bossuet may be clumsy as fuck, but the dude can lift.”

“Thanks, no. I'd rather get our security deposit back. Okay, you two take that end. Lift with me on three.”

With much swearing, huffing, and berating of Prouvaire's relatives' ostentatious taste in furniture, the three boys managed to get the pieces of the bed upstairs. Feuilly's toolkit was waiting on the windowsill in Enjolras' room. Grantaire took a look at the bed, at his pink tinged and sweaty friends, and then opened a beer. “Enj can sleep with me one more night. We'll put it together tomorrow. I think that was enough work for now.”

“Agreed. Plus I still need to sage it,” Prouvaire said.

“Then don't set it up under the smoke detector.”

They retreated to the living room. Grantaire and Feuilly flopped down on the futon, Prouvaire sitting on the floor just in front of Grantaire with his head resting on Grantaire's knees. He was tempted to invite them over to his apartment instead. It was nearby and unarguably nicer, however he knew Feuilly took some pride in being able to play the host, even if he didn't have much to work with.

“Do you guys want to watch something?” Feuilly asked. He waved his hand to indicate the couple of cardboard boxes opposite the futon that had his laptop sitting on them. It was a decent sized laptop, so it subbed in pretty well for a TV.

“Thanks, no. Combeferre had me up until midnight watching documentaries with him last night. I think that's enough television for me to last through the end of the week,” Prouvaire said.

Grantaire laughed. “Like ninety percent of my one on one time with Enjolras involves TV.”

“Really?” Feuilly sounded genuinely surprised. “Enjolras usually hates TV. He's more of a reader or a conversationalist. Both at once, most of the time.”

“Yeah, well the thing about being boyfriends is that when you're watching TV together you're not really watching the TV.”

Prouvaire sat up a little straighter and then turned around to face Grantaire. He looked like he'd had an epiphany. “I'm an idiot, aren't I?”

“You're certainly bad at the non-literary kind of romance, but it's cool. I think 'Ferre loves you anyway.”

“It's not like he actually tried to kiss me or anything. But he was terribly awkward, and he kept telling me interesting things he'd read about moths. Well, supposedly it was interesting. I don't actually care about moths.” Prouvaire rested his chin on his hand. “Hm. He rambles a lot about whatever he's been reading when he's nervous about something. Have you noticed that?”

“Yep. I found it hella useful when I was working on anatomy for my figure drawing classes.” Grantaire smiled in reminiscence of his study sessions from freshman year. The closer Combeferre got to an exam, the more he word-vomited incredibly useful scientific information, and he was good at breaking it down. Grantaire thought he was well suited for a career in teaching. “Oh my god. That's adorable. Who knew Combeferre was bashful? He always seems so much more confident and normal than us.”

“Yes, but he's also a nerd,” Prouvaire said. “Our people sometimes need help making the first move.”

“Wait, you guys have been dating for weeks now. Are you still...hands in polite places?”

Prouvaire shrugged. “Mostly. I don't know. There's...there's an artificiality about things that I'm not fond of. I think it might be in my head though. I don't know. I think I'm making things more complicated than they are. It's right out of my playbook of mental issues, after all. Anyway, we could stand to be more physical.” He took a sip of his drink. “What about you and Enjolras? Should I keep searching for literature on asexuality?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Enj isn't ace.”

Feuilly nodded. “I didn't think he was. But, y'know, sexuality can be fluid. And it's been for fucking ever since we've talked about that stuff. For all I know he's refined his identity like nine million times since high school.”

Grantaire perked up a little at that. “Was high school the last time you talked about sex stuff with him?”

“Mostly, plus he completely shut down on me after we...um. Hm.” Feuilly was suddenly very interested in his beer. Grantaire fixed an expectant stare on him, wondering what the hell that was about.

Then Prouvaire slid onto the couch between them and slung an arm around Feuilly's shoulder. “Dear, you seem to have wandered from your train of thought. Now, this conversation was verging towards the intensely personal, so if you'd rather not continue it that is of course your right. But I can't help being highly intrigued.”

“It's...nothing really.” Feuilly's gaze dropped. “I mean...I mean it would be nice to finally talk about this with someone other than Joly. God knows he was no fucking help at all. 'Oh, just get over it. Don't take it personally, have some platitudes and a drink and stop bringing me down with your fucking feelings.' Argh, but the last person I should talk to is...” Feuilly glanced at Grantaire and abruptly cut himself off.

Prouvaire took his beer from him and set it on the ground, a good move considering how agitated Feuilly was getting. He shot Grantaire a worried look, and then pulled Feuilly into a hug. “We can change the subject, if you'd rather. I'm sorry, Feuilly. I didn't mean to hit a nerve.”

“Feuilly...” Grantaire took a deep breath, and hoped what he was trying to say came out right. “Dude, I know we haven't known each other very long or anything, but I think of you as one of my closest friends. Like, you're not just my boyfriend's friend. You're _my_ friend. I'd thought you felt the same way, but in case you don't, like...you can talk to me about anything. I'm here for you, okay?”

“Oh my god, R. Of course we're friends. It's not that.” He'd had his face pressed against Prouvaire's sweatshirt, but he looked up at Grantaire with a grin that was mildly exasperated. His eyes were still a bit downcast. “I'm still carrying some adolescent baggage with me, but it's fine. I don't need to drag it all out and psychoanalyze myself. I'm a fucking adult, with a hot girlfriend, and I am not the sad little thing I was when I was in high school. I'm good, I swear. I mean, I'm half convinced my hot girlfriend is going to break up with me every time I hear from her because I'm trans and those are the kinds of cis people I've dated so far, but yeah...that's my issue.”

Prouvaire gave him a squeeze. “More drinks, I think. And maybe we _should_ watch some television.”

“What happened to your old TV?” Grantaire asked. He honestly wouldn't have been surprised if the answer was that it was on the curb in front of Feuilly's former apartment. The thing had been a monster, a relic of their childhoods or possibly even their parents' childhoods.

“It's in my room,” Feuilly said. “Enjolras thought it was too clunky for the living room. He's saving up for a television that was made in this century, and in the meantime we've got books. C'mon, let's change locations. Follow me.” Feuilly climbed to his feet, laced his fingers with Prouvaire's, and tugged him over to his bedroom.

A couple bottles of wine and three Disney movies later, and the boys were stretched out on Feuilly's bed, sort of snuggling with each other and talking once more about their significant others.

“I don't know why I can't do this with 'Ferre,” Prouvaire whined. He leaned over and placed a sloppy, drunken kiss on Grantaire's cheek. His scruffy facial hair tickled Grantaire, and he squirmed and pushed him away. “But see? It's like nothing with you because you're just my R. With Combeferre I always want him to kiss me, and I never kiss him myself. Weird, isn't it?”

“Didn't you kiss him that first time, on New Years?” Grantaire poked him in the side.

“Yes, but that was different. It was a holiday and I had an excuse. I can't just kiss him out of nowhere when we're alone together.”

“Dude, he's your boyfriend. He expects you to.”

“Hmph.” Prouvaire bobbed his leg up and down. “He's very good at kissing. It's much nicer than when he talks about moths or human dissections.”

For some reason, Feuilly thought that was hilarious. He clapped a hand over his mouth and then rolled onto his side so that he was facing the wall. “Sorry. But you and Combeferre must have the most interesting pillow talk in the world.”

“I'm sure we will when we get there.” Prouvaire laughed and rubbed his hands over his face. “This is quite ridiculous, isn't it? That I'm this shy with him still. I was better at talking to him before we started going out. Okay, I'm making a resolution. I'm supposed to see him later tonight when he gets back from the library. I'm going to kiss him as soon as I walk through the door.”

“Oh, and you even believe yourself when you say it.”

“Shut up, R. I'm going to do it.” He rolled onto his stomach and kicked his legs out behind him. “So what about you and Enjolras?”

“What about me and Enjolras what?”

Prouvaire rolled his eyes. “We never really finished our conversation from before. You said he isn't asexual. Does that mean the two of you are getting on a bit better than I am with my boy?”

“Well, when we watch TV together we're not actually watching TV most of the time.”

Prouvaire reached over and patted his head. “Well done.”

“Thanks? God, you're weird when you're drunk.”

“You've known that, R. Also, I'm not just drunk. I'm drunk and I've been watching love stories. It brings out my lower case r romantic side. I'm just so happy for the two of you. I wasn't sure you'd ever get your shit together, and now you have, and you're both just flourishing and it's wonderful. I love seeing how happy you make each other.”

“Yeah, it's nice,” Feuilly croaked in a tone that made Prouvaire's smile slip and Grantaire squint at him. His cheeks turned red and he reached for the nightstand to snag his drink. His face was briefly hidden while he turned to drain his glass, but when he finished his friends were still staring at him. “What? It is nice. I've said from the beginning, R. I'm glad you're around to help me take care of Enjolras. It was exhausting, looking after him on my own. He's so stubborn. And he's opened up to you way more than he ever did with me.”

“Mm. And are we...okay with that?” Prouvaire asked.

“Of course,” Feuilly snapped, making it very clear that he was not, in fact, okay with any of that.

Grantaire leaned up on his elbows as a horrible plunging sensation replaced what, until recently, had been his stomach. He'd joked a few times at the Musain that he couldn't understand how all of his friends weren't in love with Enjolras too. Perhaps it wasn't a terribly sensitive joke to make. “Feuilly...I...I'm not really sure what to say.”

Feuilly sighed. “You don't have to say anything. There's nothing...there's nothing to say.”

Prouvaire patted Feuilly's knee. “You're lovely, you know. In case you need to hear it.”

“Are you going to be okay? Like, living with him?” Grantaire sat up and fixed his eyes on his friend, watching his face carefully for even the slightest hint of reaction to his words. “I did spend a couple of months living with him while thinking we would...while being absolutely sure my feelings were one-sided, and it was a form of mild torture. I don't want that for you, dude.”

“You're not jealous?”

“C'mon, Feuilly. I, of all people, can relate to how it feels to be painfully in love with Enjolras.” As soon as Grantaire spoke he regretted it. This was the big reason he needed to get a handle on his drinking; because he said stupid shit and it got him in trouble. Well, that and the inevitable liver failure, but hopefully that was a few decades away. It wasn't as pressing as his damn mouth.

Feuilly looked stricken for a second, the color drained completely from his face. Then an odd sort of smile, sort of grimace twisted his features and he laughed. “The difference, R, is that he ended up loving you back. So it's not so painful anymore, is it?”

“God fucking damn it. I didn't want to be right about that.” Grantaire slumped over. “And I've been going to you for advice. I'm such an asshole.”

“Dude, don't worry about it. I've been giving advice to Enjolras too. I want it to work out for you guys. You're good for him and...and I want the guy I'm in love with to be happy. I'd have preferred to make him happy myself, but what are you going to do? I don't have the right equipment for that.”

“Wait, what?”

Feuilly scoffed. “Okay, full disclosure time. You know how we've been saying Enjolras has never had a boyfriend before you? Well that's mostly true. We only went out a few times but I did everything I could to try to romance him. I tried as hard as I could to make that work, and make those dates fucking magical, and I opened my heart to him and told him everything I felt. And he was quieter, but that's him, isn't it? I didn't worry at first. But he couldn't kiss me either, and not like what Jehan's describing. He wasn't just shy or awkward. He kept freezing up, and he, like, _couldn't_ touch me. He's one of _those_ gay guys. Like, hypothetically he's all for trans rights and sees us just like anyone else and respects our gender identity and so on. But damn if he'll date a trans man.” Feuilly swore and smacked his hands over his face. “I should not have said any of that.”

“No, Feuilly. It's good to unburden yourself. You shouldn't have been carrying that with you.” Prouvaire ran his hand in small circles over Feuilly's back, and when Feuilly leaned into the touch he pulled him onto his lap and started carding his fingers through his hair. “I'm so sorry, Feuilly. It must be difficult, to have someone you care for so deeply speak all the rhetoric but then fail at such an important part of walking the walk.”

“Enjolras didn't fail.” The words were out of Grantaire's mouth before he could stop himself. Prouvaire gave him a stern look, while Feuilly burrowed closer and let out a small whimper. “Sorry, but he didn't. It's...”

Absolutely one hundred percent not Grantaire's place to say anything. Enjolras' secret was not his to divulge and there wasn't enough alcohol in even the Heidelberg tun to loosen his tongue on that score.

But from the sounds of it, Enjolras hadn't rejected Feuilly sexually because he was trans. That description lined up pretty well with Grantaire's own initial attempts to make out with his boyfriend. He'd frozen up and pulled away because he was traumatized, because of the abuse he hadn't let himself process.

Oh god. If Feuilly hadn't jumped to the conclusion he had, but really talked things over with Enjolras instead, they'd more than likely still be together. Actually, they'd be really good together. Whenever Enjolras talked about Feuilly it was fucking obvious how much he respected and admired his friend. They were both so into the activist stuff too. Feuilly was always right by Enjolras' side when he was getting his social activist groove on. Hell, they'd met at a fucking protest.

And Feuilly was undeniably better looking than Grantiare. He was fit, with a charming smile and a smattering of freckles over his nose, and he had mesmerizing hazel eyes that were never exactly the same shade anytime you looked at them.

Looks weren't important, really, but it was just another thing Feuilly kicked Grantaire's miserable, depressed, and alcoholic ass at.

“Look, we don't need to talk about this,” Feuilly said. He sat up and faced Grantaire, who didn't quite manage to maintain eye contact. “I didn't mean to tell you. I've been working on getting over him, actually. I spent awhile wallowing and I'm fucking sick of it. I'm ready to move on. And I swear, I wish the two of you nothing but happiness together, okay? So don't...there's like...it doesn't need to be weird with us, okay?”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. No, it's...I'm glad you told me.” Which was a blatant lie. If Grantaire were happy his insides wouldn't feel like they were trying to dissolve. “Now I know to tread carefully. I don't want to be a dick and rub your face in anything.” Which was completely true. He was going to be very careful about the Enjolras-related topics he broached around Feuilly from then on.

“Oh fuck, please don't worry about that. It's...we barely even went on dates. It wasn't a thing. We're good friends who tried to date and realized we should stay friends. I'm fine. I'm making too big a deal of it.” Feuilly flopped back onto the bed and let out a prolonged, theatrical groan. “Plus I've got a girlfriend now. I'll be completely one hundred percent over him any day now and we'll just be normal friends again.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Prouvaire looked like his sentimental heart was breaking.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Feuilly said. “Can we put on another movie?”

“Actually, I should get going. I'm supposed to be meeting up with Combeferre.” Prouvaire contorted himself so that he was bending over almost double and dropped a kiss on Feuilly's forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow at the cafe, won't I, dear?”

“Yeah, I'll be around.” Feuilly swatted his arm. “Get going. And make sure you give 'Ferre that kiss. I'm going to bug you about it tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay. Goodbye.” He kissed his palm, waved to both of them, and then left the room. A moment later they heard the front door close behind him.

Feuilly clambered out of the bed and started digging around in the box his VHS tapes were in. “Since we just did a bunch of Disney, I was thinking Don Bluth?”

“Sure, whatever.” Grantaire rolled onto his stomach and faced the television. After getting the movie set up, Feuilly took up position by the headboard. They didn't say anything, both suddenly riveted on an animated classic they'd seen enough times to be able to recite it in full. Despite the familiarity, it apparently required a ton of attention.

Grantaire wished he'd agreed to meet Enjolras back at his place, or at work, or anywhere but the apartment.

An awkward hour or so later, the front door opened and Enjolras' footsteps were heard pattering through the living room. First he paused by his own bedroom, his defeated sigh perfectly audible what with the lack of conversation between Feuilly and Grantaire, and then he poked his head into Feuilly's room. “I thought you were going to set up the bed.”

“Moving it in was more work than expected. You're welcome to set it up though, considering it's your bed,” Feuilly said.

“I just closed with Mabeuf and Louison. I'm not up to any physical labor tonight.” Enjolras plopped down on the bed next to Grantaire and lightly punched his shoulder. “Are you going to say hi to me?”

“What?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, then he bent over and kissed Grantaire. Or, he tried to kiss him. Grantaire completely froze up, then pushed up into a sitting position and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “Since the bed's a work in progress, I assume you're crashing with me again tonight. I wanna get going. I've gotta be up early for another therapy session tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Enjolras frowned. He turned towards Feuilly. “I don't have to work until three tomorrow. Are you going to be around? And more importantly, will you take enough pity on me that you'll help me set up the bed?”

“Sorry, dude. I'm working and then I've got plans. But maybe R can swing by after his therapy session. You've got your own boy now. You might as well use him.”

“But you're good at building things.” Enjolras poked Feuilly's shoulder. “I have no faith in our ability to get this thing put together without help. What are you doing the next day?”

“Working and then seeing Rose. Um...I'm free on Friday. If you guys really can't figure it out on your own I can save you then.”

“Oh god. Well, maybe we can Youtube it or something.”

Grantaire laughed. “I don't know, Enj. I think that bed is from well before the advent of the internet. I seriously doubt you'll be able to find a tutorial.”

Enjolras scowled. “We'll figure something out. Anyway, let's get moving. I'm tired, and as I don't have my own bed yet, yours will have to suffice.”

“Kay. See you later, Feuilly.”

“Yeah, bye.” Feuilly kept his eyes fixed on the television as his friends left.

Grantaire wondered if Enjolras had picked up on any tension, or anything at all different between them during the awkward as fuck five minutes they'd been together, but it appeared not. He launched into a recitation of his workplace frustrations, mostly stemming from Louison and Eponine's refusal to see him as a supervisor while Nick adamantly insisted he supervise the under-performing employees into getting their work done. The end result was Enjolras putting away even more shipments by himself, constantly cleaning the cafe, refilling pitchers, emptying trashes, all while keeping the line moving and trying to keep their finicky customer base happy.

“In conclusion, this is not worth the extra dollar an hour,” Grantaire said while unlocking the front door. Enjolras actually pushed past him and dropped face first onto the couch with his shoes still on. With a sigh, Grantaire dropped his keys in the bowl, then knelt down next to the couch and tugged off Enjolras' boots. “I'll start looking at job postings for you tomorrow after therapy, okay?”

“Kay. But Grantaire, will you still love me when I don't smell like coffee all the time? Actually, I can't even keep that joke going. I think the grounds might have worked their way into my DNA and permanently changed my scent or something. I had a stranger walk up to me and smell me today. It was exceptionally uncomfortable.”

“That is fucking bizarre.”

Enjolras leaned up on his elbows, one of his particularly intense looks aimed at Grantaire. “Did something happen today? You're acting a bit...”

Grantaire waited, but the sentence remained unfinished. He helped Enjolras into a sitting position, wrapped an arm around him, and kissed his cheek. “I'm good. Just tired, I guess. Since you just did the work of three people, are we ready for bed?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” He frowned. “Damn. I thought I was getting better at understanding your moods. If you were upset about something, you'd tell me, right?”

“Assuming you could do anything to help? Absolutely.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras pulled away from him and fixed him with a stern look. “You're helping me with all sorts of shit that has nothing to do with you. Relationships are supposed to be reciprocal. If you're having a bad day, I'd like to help.”

“You are. Seriously, Enjolras. You're here and that helps me. But I'm actually fine. I'm just incredibly ready for bed.” Grantaire got up and started for the bedroom. He was halfway through changing into pajamas in the bathroom when the door opened and Enjolras calmly strolled over to the sink and started brushing his teeth.

Grantaire just managed to stop himself from overbalancing while he was pulling on his pajama pants, but there was a dangerous couple of seconds where he was sure he was going to smash his head on the tub. “What are you doing?”

Enjolras spit into the sink, then wiped his mouth. “Getting ready for bed.”

“Ah huh. You...you usually use the other bathroom.”

“I know. Do you mind me using this one?”

“N-no. I guess not. Just...warn a guy.” Grantaire fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. He considered just wearing it to bed instead of the comfier one he'd grabbed from the laundry basket on the way into the bathroom. It's not like he'd gone for a run or anything. It was reasonably clean.

Then Enjolras started changing into his pajamas, standing close enough that Grantaire could actually see the yellow hairs on his arms. “Enjolras...what are you doing?”

Enjolras frowned. “Taking a concrete step towards being more comfortable around you. Now would you kindly shut up about it? You're making it weird. With the level of emotional intimacy we've achieved, we should be able to share this sort of domestic space together without it being some kind of event. Brushing my teeth while you're getting ready for bed should be boring. I'd like it to be boring.”

“O-okay.” In that case, he definitely shouldn't leer at Enjolras' abs. Grantaire quickly switched into his pajama t-shirt, then nudged past Enjolras to get to the sink. He tried not to watch Enjolras in the mirror, but the amount of toothpaste that dribbled onto his chin attested to his failure in that goal.

Far from being uncomfortable with the staring, Enjolras looked amused. He wiped Grantaire's chin for him with his discarded work shirt and then kissed him. “I suppose I could have warned you. Sorry about that.”

“S'okay. But if there are other points to this plan, can you clue me in?”

“Of course.” Enjolras gave Grantaire's hand a squeeze, and once they were settled in bed together he started his dry recitation of his almost academic sounding plan to conquer his demons. “I want to feel more comfortable in my body. I've been thinking about all the little ways I haven't so far. The ultimate goal, of course, is to be able to have sex with you without a mental breakdown. Well, the same sorts of emotions that are getting in the way of that crop up sometimes during everyday activities. Sharing the bathroom is one of them, obviously. Also, when you stand behind me and put your arms around me, sometimes that's hard. I've been trying to get you to do it more though, because I do like it when you hug me and if I can develop new associations they might overpower the old ones. And I've never liked it when strangers talk about my appearance. I'd gotten to this point where I was trying to detach from my body and my appearance and just pretend it wasn't there and wish people saw anything else about me instead. But...it's not all bad, I suppose. It got you to notice me, and that's been a good thing. So I've been trying to get better about when you compliment my looks.” Enjolras winced. “This sounded better in my head. I don't know. I was trying to come up with little steps I could take, like how your therapist gave you the positive self-talk homework. You need to feel better about your personality, well I need to feel better about the attention my appearance gets me. I'd still prefer strangers to shut the fuck up about it, but you're my boyfriend and I care about you and I don't want to...I want us to have a normal physical relationship too.”

Damn, but that was a lot to take in. “Um...I think it sounds like you're doing pretty good being your own therapist. But we don't, like, have to start stripping in front of each other.”

“Was it really that weird?”

“I mean a little?” Grantaire's thoughts drifted to that time before the New Year's party, when Enjolras had rather cavalierly switched shirts in front of him. He hadn't known how to respond then, and the ensuing months hadn't given him any better insights. “Uh, but just for the record...like, even though I noticed you were hot when we first met that-that wasn't the sole basis of my crush, or anything. Like, if you were just pretty and that was it I would have forgotten about you and moved on. Y'know. It's...I've had plenty of really hot guys tell me to stop looking at their ass. So it's just...there's always been more, okay?”

“Even though I was short tempered and careless and drove you to drink?”

“Hey.” Grantaire framed Enjolras' face with his hands, making sure that they were looking each other in the eye. “My drinking is not your fault. It is not something you have any responsibility over. Sometimes you made me nervous, okay, that is true. And then I went home and drank. But if it hadn't been you it'd have been something else. I'm a nervous kind of guy. And now I'm getting therapy for it because of you. For fuck's sake, Enjolras. You should not be beating yourself up over my mental health. No one has ever done more for me than you have. I try to hide this shit from everyone else and just be this jovial slacker that they'll keep around for laughs. I think Jehan knows there's more going on than I let on, but he also has never had any clue how to talk to me about it. You're the first person who's really seen me and tried to help.”

“I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve.” Enjolras' voice sounded strained. Grantaire smirked and kissed his temple.

“Well, we both know how that feels, I guess. I still think I've been doing the bare minimum in not being an asshole about your trauma, but you're making it out like I'm some god damn hero or something.”

“Listen, you only think you're doing the bare minimum but you being supportive and patient is exactly what I need. I wish your consideration of my feelings wasn't coming from a place of self-abnegation, but the fact that you're attentive to my moods is extremely nice. I did try to date someone once, and we didn't get very far precisely because he couldn't do what you've referred to as the bare minimum. So you're more special than you realize.”

Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

“You...you said you'd never dated before.” Grantaire couldn't think of anything else to say. He knew he didn't want to bring up the uncomfortable conversation he and Prouvaire had had with Feuilly, but this felt like lying.

Enjolras shrugged. “I'm not really sure if I should count it. We went on three dates and awkwardly kissed a few times. I liked him a lot, but I couldn't...the timing was shit. We went on our first date two weeks before Uncle Felix flew in for his visit, so I was tense and snippish with him, and after...after what happened...I couldn't talk to him and we sort of fizzled out and went back to being friends. I guess it's easier that way. I'm a lot of work, and if you're not getting any positive returns on the effort...” Enjolras gave himself a little shake. “Anyway, it's for the best that it didn't work out with him because now I've got you and this is everything to me.” Enjolras snuggled up close to him. Grantaire caught a glimpse of one of the rare, relaxed smiles before Enjolras' face was pressed against his t-shirt. He was a bit relieved they weren't looking each other in the eye anymore, because he was sure his discomfort and indecision was showing.

Well, at least he had a therapy appointment in the morning, because suddenly he had an abundance of emotional bullshit he needed to break down and process.

* * *

Grantaire's head was buzzing when he left his therapist's office. For some reason, he'd expected to feel better or marginally calmer after the session. He'd thought that was the whole point of these things. But instead they'd just prodded at his emotions and insecurities for an hour, and then he'd been herded out before he could sort through anything.

He'd been told they'd made good progress but damned if he saw anything that counted as progress.

He pulled out his cell to give Enjolras a call. It was one of his rare mornings off, and he'd planned on spending at least the first part of it trying to put his bed together. Grantaire was hoping he could tempt him out for breakfast instead. Talking to Enjolras might ground him a little.

“Can you bring breakfast here? I've got one of the rails attached and I don't want to walk away from this until I've figured out the other side.”

Grantaire sighed, and agreed to get some takeout instead. He ended up sitting on Enjolras' floor dourly watching him fight with his bed, picking at his food while Enjolras completely ignored his own meal in favor of swearing at the pieces of furniture. As it turned out, Grantaire's baby was not at all handy. Not that he expected him to be, really. Enjolras was a brilliant thinker and very well read. His abilities screamed of an upbringing devoted to intellectual and creative pursuits, with other people filling in on the more down to earth tasks like cooking, cleaning, and furniture assembly.

“Okay, you know what? I'm just going to take it apart again so that Feuilly doesn't see it like this when he gets home from work. He's already making fun of me enough as is.”

“I don't think you need to completely scrap what you've been doing. I'm pretty sure the railing's in the right place. I think you just screwed it in upside down.”

“He already caught me using dish soap to clean the bathroom, which is apparently wrong. I don't want him to know I can't put my bed together either.”

Grantaire refrained from pointing out that Feuilly had already figured out Enjolras couldn't put the bed together and instead coaxed him into eating his bagel sandwich.

“So how'd your session go? Did you pass your homework?”

“Hm?” It took Grantaire a second to figure out what Enjolras was talking about. “Oh, no, I failed miserably. We're doubling down on the positive self-talk for one more week and then switching tactics if I completely forget about it again. We spent most of today talking about my parents.”

Enjolras' face contorted in dislike. “Sounds fun.”

“Fucking hoot, yeah. Uh, speaking of, um...longstanding emotional issues. You said before that you wanted to, uh...talk about...”

“The sexual assault.”

Grantaire frowned and lowered his gaze to his fidgeting hands. “Yeah, that.”

“I do. Not before work though. I'm off the day after tomorrow, so I was thinking tomorrow night would be a good choice. That way when I render myself a useless mess I'll have some time to recover in peace if I need it.”

“Wait, are you scheduling a mental breakdown for yourself?” Grantaire shook his head. “That is just...the most _you_ thing I've ever heard.”

“Shut up. I'm being realistic.” He did look a bit embarrassed, but not exactly uncomfortable. “No one else knows what happened. At least, not everything. I tried to tell my parents but they reconstructed my story into something that suited their own needs instead, and since Feuilly was the one who picked me up he knows something happened, but he doesn't know the full story. I...I couldn't talk yet. So he thinks it was just a big fight. He thinks my parents kicked me out because they found out I was gay. Which is a half-truth. They probably would have kicked me out on the strength of my sexual orientation alone. It's just that there is more to what happened, and I've been keeping it to myself and trying to work through it. It'll be a relief to unburden myself to you, even if it is...exceptionally difficult.”

“Well, same rules apply. Tell me as much as you're comfortable telling me and if it's hurting more than helping, stop.” Grantaire gave his hand a squeeze. “I'll make sure to keep the next morning free, since I'll probably be panicky and shaky too. Hm. This scheduling trauma thing is less ridiculous than it sounds.”

“It's actually just knowing yourself and understanding how you're going to respond to things.”

“Hm.” Maybe he'd get his therapist's opinion on that at his next session.

* * *

'Positive self-talk, positive self-talk…' Grantaire's eyes strayed to the end of the table, where Feuilly was smiling absently to himself while he typed out a text. He'd forgone the Red Sox cap for a day, and his curly hair was falling very attractively around his face.

'You've got nice hair too, maybe. Enjolras thinks so.' Grantaire gave himself a shake and tried again. 'Okay, you're not nearly as attractive as Feuilly. You're not being negative by just accepting that. It's just being truthful. Feuilly's better looking than you'll ever be. And smarter. Way fucking smarter. It's too bad he can't afford to go to one of those fancy schools, like the one Enjolras used to be in before he was homeless. And he's like the opposite of lazy. If he had the opportunities you have, he'd definitely be making something of it and Enjolras would be even more in love with him than he already…'

Grantaire got up and headed into the main room of the Musain. He needed a drink, and he was out of coffee.

Enjolras was trying to show Mabeuf something on the register. Despite what was clearly a monumental effort, his impatience was showing and Mabeuf was obviously uncomfortable. “What if I wash the milk pitchers instead and you ring? You're so much better at it, sonny. It comes easy to you, doesn't it?”

“Mabeuf, we don't need the milk pitchers washed once an hour. We need you to learn how to work the POS system. Oh, hey R. Medium dark roast?”

“Yes please.”

Enjolras turned back to his elderly coworker. “Can you at least get his drink? It's an easy enough order.”

Mabeuf frowned. “Somehow I think my frazzled old brain can manage it. Sir.” He limped his way down the counter and didn't bother trying to conceal his scowl while he got Grantaire's coffee. He was polite as always when he handed Grantaire the paper to-go cup, but then he left for the cream and sugar station without saying a word to Enjolras, snatched up the milk pitchers, and left for the back room.

Enjolras balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. “He just does that to get off the floor. He's already cleaned the milk pitchers twice today, and he dumps the cream and milk down the sink every time he does it. At this rate, we're going to plow through our order and then that's one more thing Nick will be on my back for.”

“I thought you liked Mabeuf.”

“I do. I was getting along with him great until I was put in charge of him. Ugh. Hey, is everything okay? You look a little down.”

Grantaire bit his lower lip, then let out a small huff and decided to just come out with it. “I really am struggling with this positive self-talk thing. Pathetic, isn't it? Can you help me out a bit?”

“Of course. What negative thoughts are you trying to counter?”

“That I'm...” Grantaire winced. “That I'll never be good enough for you. That you can do better.”

“Oh, R...that's such an obvious distortion from your illness. Try to think objectively, if you can. I've given you no evidence whatsoever to think that's even a little bit true. You _know_ I love you and that you've been wonderful for me. I'm sure you can remind yourself of all the times you've helped me and comforted me and made me happy.”

“I, well yeah, I...” With great difficulty, he kept himself from glancing into the back room at the pushed together tables where their friends were sitting. He wanted to tell Enjolras that the reason that wasn't working was because he knew if circumstances had fallen a little differently, Feuilly would be doing all that for him and he'd be doing a much better job. They were so much more compatible, too. And Feuilly might have some of his own baggage, but it wasn't as petulant and stupid as Grantaire's. It actually meant something and had made him a stronger person.

He really ought to do the noble thing, and break up with Enjolras and then tell him and Feuilly about how they'd misread everything, and wish them well together for their happily ever after. But he was weak, and stupid, and he'd never be able to pull off something that selfless.

“Grantaire, whatever it is, tell it to shut up.” Enjolras leaned across the counter and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I mean it. I do have to get back to work, but I can keep reinforcing the positive thoughts when I take my fifteen, okay? Keep at it. It'll get easier if you keep practicing.”

“Yeah. Okay. Th-thanks.” Grantaire tried to smile for him, failed miserably, and shuffled back to the pushed together tables. He sat as far from Feuilly as he could manage, dug his flask out of his bag, and poured a generous amount into the coffee cup.

Prouvaire shot him a concerned look, and for one horrible moment Grantaire thought the damn poet might be gearing up to talk to him about his feelings. But then Courfeyrac stormed into the Musain in a state of high-drama, and, as was his habit, sucked up all the attention in the room. Grateful for the distraction, Grantaire pretended to pay attention to Courfeyrac's whining and instead privately sulked and drank.

He got a vague sense that Courfeyrac's pining over Pontmercy had hit some sad new level, and started paying actual attention to the conversation when the subject of money came up.

“Wait. Let me get this straight. He's sleeping on your couch, eating your groceries, doing laundry in your basement, but...you're giving _him_ money?” Feuilly pinched the bridge of his attractively freckled nose. “Run that by me again, Courf, because that doesn't make the barest bit of god damn sense.”

“I thought you got him a second job to help with his finances,” Combeferre said.

“I did, but he stopped showing up. That was back when he was pining over Cosette. He got all...all moody and depressed and he was really lost in his head.” From what Courfeyrac had said, the only reason Pontmercy had still shown up for his Musain shifts was because Cosette sometimes studied there so she could say hi to her foster sisters. And also he was slightly scared of Enjolras. “I was worried about him, so I started loaning him some money so he at least wouldn't have that on his brain. But, well...we kinda gave up any pretense he was ever going to pay me back a long time ago.”

“Why are you still giving him money then?” Combeferre had taken the lead on the questioning, which was a good move. His tone was firm and defied attempts at deflection, but still gentle and compassionate.

Courfeyrac nervously tugged on a loose strand of his brilliantly blue (for the moment, at least) hair. “I don't know. I mean, he still doesn't have a new job, does he? And his mood swings towards depression so easily. I just don't...there's no reason for him to worry. I don't want him to have to freak out.”

“Which is a noble sentiment, but it doesn't appear to be reciprocated.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Combeferre glanced around the table at the dead serious expressions on all their friends' faces, and then gave Courfeyrac's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He's been taking advantage of you, Courfeyrac. We've all noticed it and we're all very concerned. You deserve better than this.”

“It's true. You've got a very generous nature and it's wrong of Marius to abuse it like this,” Feuilly said.

“It'd be different if he ever showed up when we were all just hanging out, or hung out with you at your place to do more than sleep or laundry or something, but he's...he's not really acting like he's your friend,” Bossuet added. “He hasn't really been acting like a friend for a long time. Like, don't get me wrong. I like the guy. He's a nice guy. But...”

Grantaire snorted. “Nice guys don't mooch like that and then disappear when they don't need the help anymore.”

Courfeyrac's brow knit together. He fixed a severe look on Grantaire. “It's not like you to hold back, R. Whatever it is, just fucking say it.”

“Pontmercy wanted your friendship when it was convenient for him. He wanted to whine your ear off about his high school girl when she wasn't giving him the time of day. And he never did anything reciprocally friendly for you. Now that he's got his girl, he's fucking gone. But he'll still take all your help, mind you. We've all been acting like Pontmercy's a fucking oblivious straight boy, but no one is that fucking dumb. He's self-centered, and I'm convinced he knows about your crush and he's using it on purpose.” He took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup on the table with possibly a bit too much force. Then he hid his shaking hands in his lap, under the table.

God, but he'd been wanting to say all that for ages.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “You don't know what you're talking about. You've had your head too far up your ass over Enjolras to be paying attention to anyone else's shit. Marius is my bro. We're...he's not _just_ using me.”

“Oh, so it's an accident?”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys!” Combeferre touched Courfeyrac's shoulder and sent a warning look Grantaire's way. “Calm down. There's no reason for this to get heated, okay?”

“Um...I feel like I stepped in at a bad time.”

They all turned towards the doorway, where Rose was hovering, looking very uncertain of herself but immensely pretty in a vintage style red dress. She had her long hair swept up in a messy bun with a glittery fake flower stuck to the side.

Feuilly's phone chimed with a text. “That'd be you telling me you just got here, huh?”

“Babe, you really need to get a better phone.” Rose walked over to the table and squeezed into an empty seat between Feuilly and Bossuet. “Well, I didn't overhear much of that, but it sounded like my brother was being insensitively candid. It's one of his specialties. I think you should stand up for yourself, Blue. Talk to this kid and don't let him wriggle out of the conversation. Tell him you're not feeling like your friendship with him is being valued, and ask him to make more of an effort. If he's a decent guy, he'll get it and do better. And if he is using you, you'll be able to tell when he denies it and explains how that is so totally not the case.”

“That's...” Courfeyrac tapped his fingers against the table, then looked at Rose and nodded. “That actually sounds like a really good plan.”

“Oh my god. Did none of you guys think of having a conversation about it? Feuilly, I thought you and your friends were supposed to be smart.”

Feuilly shrugged. “In many ways we are still a huddle of very stupid boys.”

“I guess.” She rolled her eyes. “So yeah, ask your buddy to hang out with you and see what he says. What do you guys normally do?”

“Um...” Courfeyrac frowned. “We um...oh fuck. We used to sit around my place eating pizza I'd bought and talk about his crush on Cosette and his money problems. That was like it. We got distant when I solved his money problems and he started dating her. M-maybe we aren't really bros.”

Combeferre wrapped an arm around Courfeyrac and he unashamedly leaned into the hug. There were a few tears stubbornly clinging to his eyelashes when he looked up. He wiped them away, then slouched down in his seat in a posture that was at least somewhat characteristic for him, as opposed to the gloomy defeated look he'd been wearing. “Kay, so that was a needed epiphany. Next time I see him we're going to establish some boundaries.”

“And you're going to stop giving him money, right?” Feuilly asked. “Courf, promise us. You won't give Marius money anymore unless he starts paying you back.”

“Courfeyrac, please?” Prouvaire sounded like _he_ might cry.

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

Rose leaned around a few chairs and jabbed Grantaire in the back with her long, acrylic nails. “Hey dweeb, are your friends always this dramatic?”

“Meh.” He made an iffy motion with his hand. “I wouldn't call tonight typical, but there's usually something going on.”

“I think it's a natural result of having this many queers in one group of friends,” Feuilly bantered. Grantaire watched his sister's face for a reaction, sure that as a relatively sheltered hetero she'd have _some_ kind of response, but she only laughed and snuggled against Feuilly when he wrapped his arm around her. “Did you want to get going now?”

“Gotta say, I'm not exactly eager to hang out with my baby brother and his buddies. I'm sure you're all nice guys though.”

“The nicest,” Bossuet said with a nod.

“Oh yeah, speaking of which...” Feuilly turned towards Grantaire. “Enjolras is staying with you at your place again, right?”

“We still haven't gotten his bed together, so yeah.”

Feuilly looked a smidge uncomfortable. “Rose was planning on staying the night with me after our movie, so...”

Grantaire gave a full body shudder. “So we definitely won't be swinging by the apartment after work to grab any of his stuff, got it.”

Rose laughed. “Aw, you're so squeamish.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh believe me, I plan on doing the exact opposite. Feuilly brings out my vocal side.” She laughed obnoxiously when Grantaire pretended to throw up, and ruffled his hair when they walked past him on their way out the door.

They passed Bahorel on his way in, and he let out a low whistle when he took Feuilly's vacated seat at the table. “Damn, good for Feuilly. Grantaire, how come you never told us your sister was hot?”

“Fucking really, Bahorel? Does that question not answer itself?”

“Oh, yeah. Guess it kinda does.”

* * *

“Grantaire…? Are you asleep?”

“Hm?”

He'd been heading in that direction, but the hesitant whisper from his boyfriend stirred his sluggish brain into some semblance of focus. The couple was lying on Grantaire's bed with the television on, more for background noise than anything else. Enjolras had a book open in front of him and Grantaire had assumed he was busy reading it. He himself had been drifting in and out of wakefulness, cuddled up behind his boyfriend with his face buried in the crook of Enjolras' neck, inhaling coffee pheromones and indulging fully in the snuggles.

Enjolras set the book aside and placed his hand over the ones clasped around his waist. “I've been thinking...”

“Yes, you usually are.” As Grantaire was positioned behind Enjolras, all he could see was his beautiful head of perfect hair, but he could guess what the exasperated lift of brow and set of enticing lips looked like. He ruffled those feathers enough times a day to be very familiar with all the subtle manifestations of Enjolras-exasperation.

“Right. I was thinking of talking about something serious with you. Should I continue or are you going to be a peevish little brat tonight?”

“Nah, I can be good. What's up?” Grantaire kept his tone light, but it was a practiced sort of thing. He could feel the anxious thoughts start to stir; Enjolras was going to dump him, Enjolras didn't think he was working hard enough at therapy, Enjolras was even more bothered by the drinking than he'd said, Enjolras was going to dump him, Enjolras felt like Grantaire was smothering him at work, Enjolras was going to dump him… “Is everything okay?” He knew it was much more likely they were finally going to have _that_ talk, the one they'd been putting off but alluding to periodically, and yet his broken brain still wanted to make everything about him.

Positive self-talk. Enjolras was not going to dump him.

Positive self-talk was not helping with how scary this conversation was going to be even if it didn't include dumping. Okay, real positive self-talk: Enjolras found Grantaire to be a source of comfort. He didn't have to understand why to know that it was true. He was good for Enjolras and made him feel better, and that was something his mental illness couldn't take from him. Grantaire took a slow, steady breath, and gave Enjolras' hand a squeeze, urging him to continue.

“Well...um, we haven't actually talked about...about that conversation we had, and we said we were going to talk tonight, so I'd like to start, um...that. So...so you know I've been thinking that perhaps I ought to tell you a little bit about what happened to me.”

“Okay.” Grantaire disentangled himself from Enjolras, grabbed the controller, and turned off the television. “Full attention then,” he decided.

Enjolras turned so that they were facing each other. He bit his lower lip, eyes downcast. Grantaire traced his thumb back and forth along Enjolras' jawline until he looked up, and he relaxed a little when their eyes met. “You don't have to, you know. Like, if you think it'll help, I'm here for you and all that jazz, but if you'd rather not get into it that's fine too. I'll follow your lead, okay?” He was pretty sure he could never reiterate that strongly enough.

Enjolras slowly nodded. “Thanks. I figured you'd say something like that again.”

“Mm. I am nothing if not predictable.”

“Grantaire, I'm trying to be serious.”

“I know. You're starting out really...heavy, I guess. Sorry, I'll behave.” Grantaire flopped onto his pillow and patted the mattress next to him. Enjolras followed, and rested his head next to Grantaire's. He kept his arms wrapped around himself, but his legs tangled with Grantaire's. “So...you've been stewing over this for awhile. I was kind of expecting us to have another heavy conversation after the last one, but then we just seemed to keep putting it off.”

“I'm not sure it's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Don't take it personally, 'Taire.” Enjolras bit on his lip again, which was a new tic, or at least one Grantaire hadn't seen from him before. “It's just...I don't want you to pity me, or see me as a victim. I've had a hard enough time dealing with your nurturing impulses as is. I don't like being coddled, but you like to take care of people. I...I don't want you to see me as weak.”

“Well I don't. Weak is actually the opposite of how I see you. You're my sun. You're beautiful and deadly and a total bad ass. I know you've been through a lot, and I know you've been hurt. It's not the kind of thing I think less of someone over.”

“It's a natural impulse to get protective over people for this sort of thing, and I don't want you to feel protective of me. We're equals, okay?”

Grantaire almost laughed at that but he just managed to restrain himself. Even then, his expression must have shown what he thought of _that_ , because Enjolras looked annoyed. “Sorry, it's just...the idea that you and I could be equals at anything is mindfuckingly baffling to me. You're incredible and I'm a dumpster fire.”

“Our country, at the present moment, is a dumpster fire. You're lovely.”

“We'll agree to disagree on that.” Grantaire ran his thumb over Enjolras' jawline again, and felt a surge of triumph when he caught a small smile on Enjolras' face. “Enj, you told me you were abused like weeks ago. Have I treated you any differently?”

“Not that I've noticed.”

“Okay. I don't know that knowing the details would change anything for me. I've been picturing all sorts of deranged stuff and worrying like crazy, and going nuts because I don't even know who it is I want to punch in the throat. But carrying that shit doesn't change anything between us. When we're together...I dunno. I just feel better. I think you do, too. I'm not used to trying to focus on the good or anything, but it just kinda happens when you're around. So I don't think knowing more details will make me suddenly treat you like glass or anything. It just might make it a little easier for me to sleep at night when you're not sleeping over. I...think it'd help me if I could just work through whatever actually happened instead of picturing all these hypotheticals, y'know?”

“No, I didn't.” Enjolras' face clouded over with worry and possibly guilt. “I hadn't realized I'd done that to you. Why didn't you say anything?”

Grantaire actually did laugh at that. “Come on, Enj. How does one start that conversation, exactly? Hey, can you dig up your trauma for me please because it's hitting me with splash damage? No fucking way. I'm not gonna make you relive anything just for _my_ sake. But if you think it'll help you, I'm all ears. Whatever you need me to do to support you, I will.”

“Well, from day one I've been hoping you'll take better care of yourself-”

“Enjolras...”

“And consider your own needs as well as mine.” Enjolras bopped his nose. “Please. It would mean the world to me if you'd look after your mental health and let me help you with it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I really wasn't that bad.” He was pretty sure Enjolras could tell he was lying. “Anyway...” He poked Enjolras' side.

“Okay.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “Well, you mentioned wanting to know who it is you wanted to punch in the throat. That'd be my godfather. My dad's best friend from his college days, my Uncle Felix. He's not actually my uncle, of course, but I've had to call him that for as long as I can remember. When I was little, he used to make me sit on his lap and he'd pat my hair and talk about how he'd always had a thing for blonds.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, I never liked it. Even when I was young enough for it to have arguably been innocent. Although I still maintain there's nothing innocent about making children aware of your preferences in a sexual partner. Uncle Felix was big on friendly touching. He'd rub my shoulders, give me a pat on the rear when I walked by, that sort of thing. I always hated it, so I tried to avoid him, but my parents always insisted I stop being rude and then they'd, like, force me to go sit next to him or something. And he'd always smile, and laugh it off, and tease me for being so cold and serious all the time.” Enjolras took another deep breath, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “So anyway, he stepped things up when I was about thirteen. That's when, instead of just hitting my butt when I walked by, he'd actually grope me. Like, his hand would linger and he'd squeeze. I yelled at him about it, and I got in trouble for being disrespectful to my elder.”

“What?” Grantaire felt sick. “You're fucking kidding me.”

“My parents picked him at every possible opportunity, so if you're already feeling outraged you need to walk it back because this is still the prologue.” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. I shouldn't be snapping at you.”

“Don't worry about it. Shit. And I thought my folks were bad.”

“They are.”

“They didn't let their friend molest me with impunity.”

“He...I mean, at that point it wasn't...I don't know.” Enjolras rolled onto his back and faced the ceiling. “They all twisted it around in my head so much that I don't even know what to think, really. I know it never felt right and I always felt like _I_ was the one being disrespected, and that maybe if I didn't want to spend time with my parents' lecherous friend that should be okay. But literally every adult in my life said I was being oversensitive and just trying to pick a fight because I didn't like Uncle Felix.”

“Felix.”

“Hm?” Enjolras turned towards Grantaire again.

“You don't live with your parents anymore. If you don't want to call him Uncle Felix then you don't have to. Frankly, he doesn't deserve an honorary title like that.”

“I hadn't even realized...you're right. I don't need to call him that. And you know what? I don't feel bad about any of the times I yelled at him. I don't care if I hurt his feelings. He deserved each and every vile thing I said to him.”

“Damn straight,” Grantaire said with a nod. “Sounds like he earned all sorts of verbal fury. And a good beat down. Please tell me at least one person has punched him in the face.”

“He usually managed to charm his way out of conflicts, but I saw him get punched in the face at least half a dozen times during my childhood.”

“That makes me feel better. It sounds like your family gaslighted you pretty bad over this. That's the right SJW term, right?”

“It, it is but I'd never really thought of it like that.” Enjolras' eyes widened. “Oh my god. They did. They were gaslighting me. I knew the way Felix treated me wasn't right, but everyone around me insisted that I was being irrational and disrespectful. They, they all told me I should care so much about my godfather's feelings but that my own didn't matter. I was gaslit.”

“Enjolras, you're trembling. Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

“No. No, I've been holding all this inside for so long. It's actually really helping me to know that I'm not crazy.” Maybe that worrying looking expression on his face was some kind of relief, then? Enjolras' emotions never manifested quite like other peoples', after all. But he looked like he was on the edge of a breakdown. Which, honestly, they'd gone in expecting that might happen.

“Okay. Can I hold you though or would you rather have some space?”

“Hm?” Enjolras looked a little lost, then he glanced down at his hands and realized how badly he was shaking. “Oh. Actually, a hug would be nice.”

“Cool, I was hoping you'd say that.” Grantaire wasted no time pulling Enjolras into his arms, and he took some slow, steadying breaths once the guy was nestled snug and above all else _safely_ against him.

He thought he'd imagined all the worst case scenarios during his bad insomnia nights, when his brain liked to torture him while Enjolras slept soundly, but he'd somehow missed on the possibility of Enjolras having been subtly abused from childhood on, right under his parents' noses while they protected and defended the abuser. What the fuck was wrong with those people? “I love you,” Grantaire whispered.

“I know. I love you too. Grantaire, I'm okay, I promise. Remember what _you_ promised? That you wouldn't start treating me like I was made of glass?”

“Shut up. I hug you all the time. Hugging is good for people. It's good for me too, okay?”

“Okay.” Enjolras leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose. “Just let me know when you've calmed down and I'll continue. Unless you'd rather I stop.”

Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. “Enj, this is about you, not me. We'll stop when you're done, okay?”

“Right.”

“Right. So...your parents suck and they defended your pervy fake uncle.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras closed his eyes. “Okay. So the thing about Felix Tholomyès is that he isn't actually a pedophile. He's a pervert and he was always talking about sex, and checking out women, and flirting and trying to take women home. He was actually pretty ugly but it never seemed to occur to him that that was a disadvantage, and it honestly didn't really slow him down. He's very charismatic. When I was a child, he was essentially playing. He would sometimes talk about how gorgeous I'd be when I grew up, which I always found weird and unpleasant, but he didn't really do anything when I was still young. It was starting to escalate when I was thirteen, but then we moved up here and I didn't see him as much.”

“Where did you move from?”

“Florida. He still lives in Fort Myers. We moved to Topsfield when my father got transferred to the Boston office of his company.”

“Oh.” Grantaire was just learning all sorts of new things about Enjolras. “I didn't know you weren't from around here. You don't have an accent.”

“I don't sound very New England though, unlike the rest of you,” Enjolras pointed out. “My family's from up here originally, and we weren't exactly swamp people when we lived in southwest Florida. We were in a posh gated community. Our parents probably run in similar circles.”

“Huh.”

“Dad and Felix met each other when they were college students in Boston. Felix got a job with a place in Fort Myers just after graduation, and he got Dad hired there too. I'd heard a rumor that he ran to the other end of the east coast to avoid an ex-girlfriend who was trying to get him to acknowledge a child they'd had together, but I don't know if that was really true. The reason given was always that he'd found this amazing job opportunity.”

“Sounds like a great guy all around.”

“Honestly, if he did father a child they're probably better off without him in their life.”

Grantaire couldn't argue with that.

“Moving back to Massachusetts didn't affect Dad and Felix's friendship. They were still always talking to each other on the phone or on Facebook, and they flew to each other's homes for visits as often as they could around their work schedules. Mom was clearly getting jealous, but then Felix would just say something charming and she'd forgive him again. I was thrilled, because Dad got to keep his friend and I didn't have to deal with him anymore. It seemed like the ideal solution. The few times he did stay with us he got way creepier, but I always thought that I was just remembering him wrong or something. Like, maybe it wasn't really that bad but it only felt that way because it had been so long since I'd seen him? I don't know. I don't know what I thought. But I'd only see him for a day or two and it never seemed worth making a fuss over, because by this point my parents were so defensive that if I even looked at Felix wrong I got chewed out.”

“That's fucking weird. They must have known something was off, but they didn't want to own up to it or face it.”

“Yes, I greatly inconvenienced them and their horrible friendship.” Enjolras leaned into the hug, and let out a bitter sigh. “So this past September...my grandmother was having her eightieth birthday, so the family decided to make a big deal of it and turn it into a reunion and a celebration of our matriarch. We went to a resort in New Hampshire and longtime family friends decided to join us, and that included Felix. He made a few passes at me the first night but he did it very carefully. No one was around, and he always said it in such a way that it could be played off as a joke if anyone did overhear. I just kept trying to avoid him, but he was so focused on me. I'd climb out of the swimming pool and he'd be there with a towel. I'd get a water bottle from a vending machine, and there he was leaning against it, making some offhanded comment about how nicely I'd grown up, lamenting the years we hadn't spent together. And the lingering touches were worse than they'd ever been. Then...then one night he was just in my room. He was there, and he'd been drinking, and he started playing with my hair and he said that shit again, about how I'd been such a beautiful kid and he'd known I was going to be a beautiful man. He said I was prettier than my mother, even, and he'd be the one to know.”

Enjolras' voice broke off. Grantaire wasn't sure what to do, so he just kept hugging Enjolras close and hoped he was helping somehow.

This felt like the opposite of helping. He felt completely powerless.

“I...I tried to fight him off, but then I shut down. I don't know what happened. He's not in good shape. I should have been able to...”

“It wasn't your fault,” Grantaire cut in quickly. “Enj, listen to me. It was not your fault. It was your rapist's fault. You didn't do anything to deserve what happened.”

“I-I know-”

“Knowing something and believing it are two different things. If anyone understands that distinction, it's me. Where are we at here? Do you feel guilty? Do you blame yourself?”

“I guess...I guess a little. I should have known better. I should have locked my door. I should have seen him as more of a threat. He'd been escalating his behavior for years. I should have known exactly what kind of monster he was and have been on my guard. But I wasn't, and he cornered me, and he was a lot stronger than I thought. And so fucking confident. He clearly didn't expect me to say anything. He knew no one would believe me.”

“I believe you.”

Enjolras frowned. “I can tell.”

“I thought you might want to hear it too though.”

He slowly nodded. “Actually, it is...can you say it again?”

“I believe you. And I'm really sorry your parents are evil assholes and that they didn't help you. They should have.” Grantaire had a lot of issues with his own parents but one thing he knew he could count on them for was protection from harm. If anyone had ever laid a hand on him they'd definitely have been seeing the inside of a jail cell, unless his father fucking killed the bastard first.

“Um...for some reason I thought I should go to my parents. I still wasn't thinking clearly. Even though...even though it had happened I still wasn't sure what to do. I wasn't sure if we should call the police or not. I had no idea and I just wanted them to fix it somehow. I wanted them to take care of me. They never looked out for me before but I was sure they were going to this time. And instead Dad called me a liar. Mom was worse though. She...she believed that Felix had had sex with me. She just thought it was consensual.”

“What the ever loving...”

“She got really mad at me, actually. She said that Felix had been trying to conquer those demons for years, that his marriage had broken up because of it, and he'd been doing so well and I had no business tempting him from his path when he'd been working so hard.”

Grantaire's list of people he desperately wanted to punch in the throat was just getting so much longer than expected. He might actually have to learn how to throw a punch. “That's vile.”

“I don't have a better word for it, so we'll go with vile. That was the worst feeling...well, no, the...um, Felix was worse. But to go through that, and then to have my parents doubt me and attack me too...I just wanted them to care enough about me to help me. But they didn't. I called Feuilly and he came and got me. I didn't tell him what happened, just that I'd had a big fight with my parents and I wasn't sure if I could fix things with them. I stayed with Feuilly for a few days, and then when I thought I might be ready for it I went to my house and tried to talk to them again. While I'd been away, Felix was doing damage control and he ran with my mother's assumptions. Not only did they not believe I was raped, but they convinced themselves that I'd seduced their longtime friend to hurt him. They'd found out I was a gay activist, and clearly if I was gay I couldn't be raped by a man. I must have wanted it.”

“That's bullshit.”

“Dad disowned me on the spot. He called me a pervert and a monster and he said he never wanted to see me again. So I threw some clothes into a bag and I left. I started staying at the shelter, and then you and I met at the end of November. You know the rest of the story from there.”

“Yeah.” Grantaire knew he needed to have more to say than that but nothing was coming. His brain felt broken, bogged down by all this simmering anger he felt towards Enjolras' parents.

How the fuck could they drop the ball that badly? He thought his parents were selfish but this...this was a whole new universe of fucked up self-centered. To have their heads so far up their asses about how dangerous one of their friends was, that with ample warning they did nothing to protect their son, and then after the fact to abandon him...Grantaire had never felt an anger like that before.

Enjolras sat up and swung his legs over the end of the mattress. He took some slow, measured breaths. Grantaire watched him silently, and after a few minutes his hands stopped shaking. “I should probably be in therapy too. I know I can't, actually, because I don't have insurance. But maybe there's a hotline or something I should call. I don't know. It felt good to talk about it. I feel...lighter.”

“Anytime you need me, I'm here.”

“I know.” Enjolras smiled weakly at him. “I really do appreciate that.” He dropped his head, smile slipping quickly into a contemplative frown. “You're very patient with me. I suppose you understand a little better now why I thought it was a bad idea to get into a relationship with you, and why I went so long denying my feelings. It really never had anything to do with you. I've cared about you almost from the beginning. I just...don't feel like it's remotely fair of me to burden you this way. It feels selfish, taking comfort from you and sharing all this...this negativity. Even though you're handling it beautifully, I'm still horrible for doing this to you.”

“No, you're absolutely not.” Grantaire practically jumped into a sitting position, and grabbed Enjolras' arm. “Enjolras, you're not. It's fi-well, it's not fine. It's a whole different universe from fine. But it's not your fault. You haven't done anything wrong, and having some baggage doesn't make you undate-able. Jesus Christ, what a standard that would be. I mean, you're mister socially engaged. Would you tell any other rape victim on the planet that they shouldn't date because it's mean to their boyfriend?”

Enjolras looked at him blankly. “Of course not. That would be absurd, to expect every rape survivor to never date.”

“Then why are you holding yourself to that stupid ass standard?”

“I...I don't know.” He gave himself a little shake. “I just know that I'm not handling this well, and I don't like thinking that my issues might hurt you.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” Grantaire sighed. “When I angst about my mental illness and my drinking you always tell me it's not going to scare you away and that you'll help me. And that feels like way more of an actual character flaw than you being utterly betrayed by your family. Like, at least I have some measure of control over this shit. I let the mental illness take the wheel and have been pretty content to just be a miserable bastard most of my life, but you're different. You're a fighter and you're doing better. And I know you're going to work through this. I'm not sure I'm up to helping you but I'll do the best I can. But I believe in you, Enjolras. You've got this. So please stop calling yourself selfish because honestly that's like the last thing you are. I've never seen anyone who gives more of himself to people than you do.” Hell, he wouldn't even take a fucking pay raise that he'd earned unless Louison got one too. Enjolras didn't have a selfish bone in his body.

Slowly, Enjolras crawled back over to the headboard and sank into Grantaire's waiting arms. He rested his head on Grantaire's chest and accepted the comfort of a good, nurturing hug. “I wish we'd met when we were in high school. You'd have driven my parents absolutely crazy, and then we'd probably have run away together somewhere. And maybe we'd both be just a little bit less broken.”

“I know I'm still a mess, but I don't feel like as much of one anymore. I'm glad we found each other now, at least.”

“Mm. I'm glad we found each other too.”

Enjolras drifted to sleep while Grantaire played with strands of his silken hair. He tried to get that positive self-talk thing going again. Enjolras was sleeping soundly. Even after hauling out trauma like that, he hadn't felt tense. He'd still felt relaxed and he'd even smiled a few times, and the big blow-out breakdown had never manifested. It appeared that talking it out with Grantaire had helped him a little.

Maybe Grantaire had done something for him that Feuilly couldn't have done better.

Grantaire continued looping Enjolras' hair through his fingers, and stared at the ceiling while a leaden feeling overtook his stomach. He still wasn't sure he was enough for his boyfriend, that he was going to be able to support him and give him the love and help he needed. But he _knew_ this stupid inadequate jealousy thing he had regarding Feuilly was only going to make things worse if he let it fester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say a few words about Marius and Courfeyrac's friendship. So...this is the first time I've written them this way but this is honestly what I get from the book. Every time I reread Les Mis I like Marius and find him sympathetic, up until he becomes uselessly lovesick over Cosette and starts treating Courfeyrac like shit. I usually make them better friends in my fan fics because I wish Marius were a better person, but I just don't think he is. He is the epitome of selfishness when he's unhappy and it bothers me. So that's where this story arc is coming from, because I'm sure the Marius characterization in this chapter seems like it came out of left field if you're a bigger fan of the musical than the book.


	13. Chapter 13

Sleep just wasn't going to be a thing for Grantaire after a night like that. He accepted that pretty early on, and once his arm started falling asleep, he extracted himself from Enjolras' embrace and carefully crept out of bed. He was practiced enough at this point that he could get himself out of the room without waking Enjolras up, despite what a light sleeper he was.

He set himself up on the couch and lazily flicked through some shows, looking for something that would hold his attention. Just because he couldn't sleep didn't mean he wasn't tired, so drawing or reading were out as those activities required far more attention and effort than his tired brain could give. But he didn't want to stew in his thoughts. His head wasn't the most pleasant place to be, what with how it was continuously cycling back through the conversation, picking apart all of his reactions and finding ways he could have been better. He'd been too angry, gotten too distracted by that anger, and he hadn't focused on Enjolras enough. God, but he was still _so_ fucking angry, and he didn't know what to do with all that emotion.

He needed to find something he hadn't watched in awhile, something that would be difficult to tune out.

Enjolras was sleeping soundly. He could drink, and there would be no one nagging at his shoulder or watching him from the doorway with sad eyes. Even getting up and heading over to the pantry felt like too much work though, so Grantaire put on some cartoons and opened his laptop. He watched TV and goofed off on Facebook until it started to get light out, then shut everything down and got back into bed.

Enjolras had migrated to Grantaire's side of the bed sometime during the night. He didn't appear to have had a pleasant rest; most of the blankets had been kicked off and he was curled into a fetal position with Grantaire's pillow clutched to his chest. Grantaire thought of waking him up but decided against it. An unsettled rest was probably still better than interrupted sleep. Instead, he settled in behind Enjolras and wrapped his arms around him.

The change was instantaneous. All the tension seeped out of Enjolras' limbs. He let out a soft, breathy noise and shifted a little, just enough that Grantaire was able to get his pillow back without waking Enjolras up. He resettled the blankets over them, kissed Enjolras' temple, and then gave falling asleep another try.

It worked. He woke some hours later, alone in bed with his phone ringing shrilly from the nightstand. Enjolras walked into the room, wearing a novelty Batman bathrobe with an actual cowl Grantaire sort of remembered getting for Christmas from his mother last year and burying in the back of his closet. His hair was wet and his skin was a little pink, meaning Grantaire had managed to sleep through a shower, despite how noisy the pipes in his building were. Enjolras snatched the phone off the nightstand and held it out to Grantaire. “It's your sister. Are you awake enough to answer it?”

“Uh...” The call ended before Grantaire managed to say anything, which settled Enjolras' question pretty definitively. Then the phone chimed with a text.

“She says she's outside and if we're decent she'd like to come in and chat. She brought coffee and donuts.”

“Can you let her in? I need a minute.”

“Of course.” Enjolras put the phone back on the nightstand and left. Grantaire spent a few minutes stretching and trying to clear the fogginess from his brain. He pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers and swapped out his t-shirt for a new one, ran a hand through his hair (futile gesture – the bedhead continued unabated), and trudged into the living room.

Rose was, again, looking very pretty and carefully groomed. This time her glossy hair was falling in styled waves down her shoulders, and she was wearing a light sun dress. Grantaire wondered how she and Feuilly were perceived when they were out on dates. The wiry, scruffy looking guy in hand mended thrift store clothes with the prissy fashionista who'd dabbled in makeup blogging. They must have garnered their fair share of double takes.

Then again, Grantaire wasn't one to talk. On a physical level, he wasn't any better matched up with his partner.

“Hey dweeb. Are you seriously just waking up? It's almost noon.”

Grantaire just managed to stop himself from blurting out that he hadn't fallen asleep until about seven in the morning. He didn't want Enjolras to get the wrong idea and start worrying that he'd set off the insomnia, even though the heavy conversation had definitely contributed to it.

“I guess it's a good thing I brought breakfast stuff. I got a couple of Boston creams. They're still your favorite, right?” She motioned to the donut box, which was sitting on the table. Grantaire dully nodded, and sat down on the couch. He grabbed a donut more to be polite than out of any desire to eat it. He was still going to need at least another twenty minutes before he was functional enough for something like appetite to happen.

“I'm going to get changed,” Enjolras said. “Rose, would you prefer I keep myself occupied in the other room?”

“Nah, I knew you were going to be around. I'm just here to say hi.” She smiled sweetly at him. “You're a fucking doll for asking though.”

“All right. I'll be right back then.”

“Here, dingus. You look like you need this.” She forced a coffee cup into Grantaire's hand. Despite the fact that it had come from the donut place, it wasn't bad. He was surprised Rose knew how he took his coffee. Well, aside from the fact that she hadn't added a shot of whiskey to it. “So...I am here to say hi and all that jazz. Feuilly's at work and I've got some time to kill. But I also wanted to give you a head's up. Mom's sniffing around about Enjolras.”

“Sniffing around? What do you mean?”

Rose sighed. “You haven't been talking to her and she's still all fluffy and excited. This is your first romance, dweeb. She's really happy for you and you know how Mom gets. She wants to get involved and celebrate with you. But you're living out here and you're on silent, so she's putting her energy into other avenues. She's trying to learn more about Enjolras on her own.”

“Oh.” Grantaire frowned. “How's that working out?”

“Well, she started out by asking some of her Boston friends if any of them knew him or knew anything about his family. Turns out they do have some friends in common. Mrs. Listolier and Mrs. Blacheville are friends with Enjolras' mom. Or rather, their husbands are friends with Enjolras' dad so all the women pretend they like each other and get along but really they're doing that catty thing where they try to one up each other in person and they're really nasty behind each other's backs. Have you ever met Mrs. Listolier? Mom tried to set me up with her son once. The kid's a jack ass and the whole family's a real piece of work. Mr. Listolier tried to hit on me while I was waiting for his son to get out of the bathroom. Mom was sooooo apologetic after the fact. I got some really sweet concert tickets out of her for that blunder.”

Grantaire was suddenly much more awake, albeit in a heightened state of discomfort. He felt anxious, and his insides were squirming. “Mom needs to back off. She cannot start prodding around Enjolras' family.”

“Dude, I know. That's why I'm telling you. You think she's going to listen to me when I tell her she's being nosy?” Rose let out an affected laugh. “I told her I was pretty sure Enjolras was on bad terms with his family and that she should let it go, but it only made her more curious.”

“Fuck. Wait, how'd you know Enjolras is fighting with his parents?”

“Because he was homeless and that's why he started living with you. Duh. I was the one who put that together for you.” She rolled her eyes. “I'd assumed if he came from money but was living on the streets that maybe things weren't so great at home.”

“That's the fucking understatement of the year.”

Rose winced. “That sucks. I mean, I'm not surprised. From the sounds of it, Enjolras' parents run with a really awful group of people. Like, every acquaintance of Mom's who also knows his folks are just...people she doesn't invite around on the regular, you know?”

“Wait, Mom has standards?” That might have been the most surprising revelation yet.

Rose smirked. “Shockingly, yes. I don't think they're where ours are at, but it's probably a generational thing. You know, we're a bit more put together than her and Dad are, her and Dad are waaaaay more stable than our grandparents were, and our great grandparents were fucking train wrecks, from what I can tell.”

Grantaire frowned. Maybe he ought to start paying more attention to his family background. It might give his therapist more to work with, at any rate. They had tried to put together a family history during his first session but Grantaire didn't know enough to say anything definitive.

“Okay, so I should give Mom a call and ask her to step back.”

“I don't know, Grantaire. You might need to do more than a phone call at this point. She's like...really into this. You should probably go home for a visit and maybe even bring Enjolras with you. It's...you know how Mom gets. She's emotionally invested and she's not going to let go of this unless you distract her. The best distraction you can offer right now is to let her actually interact with your boyfriend.”

Grantaire scowled. “Is she pulling this shit with you and Feuilly?”

“Not really.”

“Well why fucking not? That's not fair.”

“For starters, Feuilly isn't my first boyfriend. I've had relationships before so it's less exciting.”

“I've-” Grantaire shut right up at the look Rose gave him.

“Don't even, kiddo. I can count the number of real dates you've been on on one hand. And that thing where that guy jerked you around for two years of high school and made you his moped was _not_ a relationship.”

Grantaire felt lost. “Made me his what?”

“You've never heard that one? Fun to ride as long as no one sees you? The moped's the person you're screwing on the side but you won't tell anyone about.”

That was a frighteningly on point assessment of Grantaire's longest running relationship to date. He'd been with the same guy on and off his junior and senior year, but they'd never gone out on dates or anything, just messed around in the backseat of his car or occasionally his house if his parents were out of town. Come to think of it, maybe that experience had something to do with Grantaire's inability to accept that Enjolras found him to be a good boyfriend.

“Also...Mom doesn't seem to like Feuilly, for some reason. I think she's hoping that if she stops talking about him he'll go away. But she likes Enjolras.”

Grantaire blinked a few times. “Why? They, like, barely talked at Christmas. I thought she was neutral on him at best.”

Rose shrugged. “Probably because he makes you happy.”

“But you and Feuilly...”

“Mom's relationship with you is really different from what it is with me, Grantaire. You're her baby and you always will be no matter how old you get. I'm her troubled and defiant bratty girl. She probably thinks I started dating Feuilly just to spite her and Dad.”

Grantaire gave her a look, because he was pretty sure that's exactly what had happened.

“Oh fuck off. I mean yes, I did start flirting with him because I thought they'd hate me going out with a poor guy with no prospects. But he's actually totally their kind of poor guy. He's really motivated and he's going to climb his way out of poverty. They're both suckers for a good pull yourself up by the bootstraps story. If they'd just give him a chance and look at him on his own merits, instead of dumping on him because he's younger than me and stuff…anyway, Mom's criteria for approving of my boyfriends goes far beyond them making me happy. You've kept her expectations spectacularly low when it comes to romantic partners. Your boyfriend just has to not be a total asshole and she'll be relieved. Hell, the fact that Enjolras acknowledges that he's dating you is like a brilliant step up.”

Enjolras chose that moment to return to the room, and his expression was impenetrable. “Why wouldn't I acknowledge that Grantaire is my boyfriend?”

“Because he's usually a moped,” Rose said simply. Grantaire balled up a napkin and threw it at her. She easily deflected it and defiantly smirked at him. “Oh what, if you didn't know what that meant _he's_ not going to get it.”

“Fun to ride if no one sees you doing it?” Enjolras sat down next to Grantaire, disgust evident in his tone. “You are most certainly _not_ a moped.”

“The gay boys I knew when I was a teenager felt differently.”

Enjolras paused for a second, and stared at Grantaire in a distressed sort of confusion. Then he looked at Rose. “I honestly don't see it. He keeps telling me people perceive him as unattractive and so he thinks he's ugly too, but I don't have any clue what anyone's talking about. Is it me? Is my taste really that out of step with the rest of society?”

Rose shrugged. “I'm his big sister. I'm a bad judge for this sort of thing because I certainly wouldn't want to date my brother. But I think it was a personality thing too. Dingus wasn't popular at our school.”

“This is true,” Grantaire said with a nod. “And it got worse at college with the drinking and general buffoonery. Which is okay for making friends, but um...” His self-deprecation and cynicism didn't exactly scream attractive romantic prospect. He shrugged. “Anyway, whatever defect you have that makes you think I'm cute is fine with me. But you're definitely the looker here.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Rose said. Grantaire was tempted to throw something else at her but Enjolras chose that moment to grab his hand and twine their fingers together. “So anyway, Enjolras, what you missed was our mom's being a total snoop and if you guys don't want her unintentionally creating a really awkward situation you should stop by the house and have lunch with her or something. I can see about dragging Feuilly along too, but I don't know if doubling would make it better or worse.”

“What?”

“Mom's been trying to track down your parents,” Grantaire said. “Apparently they have a few mutuals, and she's been asking them questions about you.”

“Oh.” Enjolras frowned and looked down at their clasped hands for a moment. “That could get quite uncomfortable. My parents' friends won't have anything good to say about me.”

“Hey, I don't care if Mom and Dad approve of you. I'm in this no matter what.” Grantaire gave his hand a squeeze. “It doesn't matter if our parents' stupid friends talk shit about you. I know the truth.”

Enjolras returned the squeeze, albeit with the strength of a winded anemic. “I do want your parents to have a good opinion of me if at all possible. I have Wednesday off next week. We could go then.”

“Let me know if you guys want me and Feuilly there, and I'll see if I can get him to use a sick day or something. Like I said, I don't know if having us there will help, but if you want us there to like, deflect Mom's attention that is something I'm very good at.”

“I'm sure we'll be okay, but thank you,” Enjolras said. “And thank you for warning us.”

Rose smiled at him. “You're welcome. And thank you, Enjolras. I know I pick on Grantaire kind of a lot but it's just a holdover from growing up together. I'm actually really thrilled to see him in, like, a healthy relationship where I don't want to murder his boy for being an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Well, likewise. I like you much better than any of the other people Feuilly's dated since I've known him.”

“Oh yeah, I always forget how far back you guys go. You knew him when he was still a girl dating straight boys and gay girls, right? That must have been weird.”

Enjolras' nose crinkled in dislike at her wording but he refrained from calling her out. To no one's surprise and everyone's amusement, Enjolras was much more particular and argumentative about the language around Feuilly's gender than Feuilly was himself. Feuilly was rather laid back and forgiving, for the most part, as long as people didn't _intentionally_ misgender him.

“Feuilly and I met a few months before he came out and began his transition. At the time, he was dating a rather stupid straight boy named Theodule. I think the ensuing breakup might have hastened Feuilly's announcement. He didn't like trying to perform the gender roles Theodule wanted him to adopt, and transitioning saved him from having to explain that to his future partners. His other boyfriends and girlfriends still sucked though. You're the first one I've liked.”

Rose laughed. “I'm not sure how to take that.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Take it however you want. Feuilly seems to pick his partners based on looks more than compatibility. He might not have paid much attention to you if you weren't pretty. It's mostly coincidence you've turned out to have a good personality.”

“Wow...he doesn't pull punches, huh?” Rose nodded towards Grantaire. “How's that working out for you?”

“Good so far. He's too blunt to be deceptive, which is a real plus for my anxiety and paranoia.”

“I could see that working.” Rose smoothed out a fold in her dress. “Lucky for me I'm confident about being pretty _and_ generally a good catch, otherwise that might have bothered me. But it sounds like you're calling my boyfriend shallow, Enjolras. Aren't the two of you really close friends?”

“We are. And he's not completely shallow. He either dumps or is dumped by his attractive jerks impressively quickly. It's an initial attraction thing. You only caught his attention by being pretty. You've held it by being, as you said, a good catch.”

“And at first we didn't plan on being serious, yeah.”

“I've been, um, wondering about that.” Grantaire wasn't really sure he wanted to have this conversation or not, but he'd already started so he might as well barrel through it. “I'm kinda surprised you're dating a trans man.”

“Me too,” Rose said, laughing again. Enjolras' eyes narrowed. “But Feuilly's...what's the word he used? Not conventional but it's another c word...cisnormative. Enjolras, does that sound right?”

Enjolras nodded.

“Right. So he looks and acts like cisgender people do, so there's not much to really challenge my comfort zone. Like, none of my friends have noticed that he's trans so far and Mom and Dad haven't noticed, thank god. I didn't know until he told me. It's really easy to just think of him like a man, you know? Enjolras, stop. I know, I know. He _is_ a man, but he's also the first trans person I've really talked to.” She smoothed her skirt out again, and immediately messed it up by bobbing her leg up and down. “I'd never realized how prejudiced I was, I guess. Like I had a lot of weird ideas and just assumed trans people were so different. But...nope. Feuilly's a guy. He's just waiting on a few surgeries and then he'll look like a prettier version of every other guy I've dated. Prettier, smarter, nicer, way more driven...yeah. I'm gonna try to hold onto him.” Her smile was adorably ditzy, and Grantaire realized that at some point during her little speech she'd forgotten who she was even talking to, lost in pleasant thoughts over her boyfriend.

He'd never seen Rose behave that way about a boy before. Normally she was much more detached. As far as he could tell, she'd taken her approach to dating from Quinn Morgendorffer in the Daria cartoons. Apparently she really cared about Feuilly.

Hm. Generally Grantaire preferred to stay out of other peoples' relationships, as it was never actually any of his fucking business, but he considered cluing Feuilly in about that. The kid seemed to be keeping Rose at arm's length, assuming him being trans was going to be an issue for his cis-het girlfriend. But that didn't seem to be the case, like at all. Grantaire had never seen his sister this giddy over anyone before.

Positive self-talk: that jealous little twinge that kept creeping up on him regarding Feuilly needed to go fuck itself. Feuilly was doing just fine for himself romantically. Grantaire should stop comparing himself to Feuilly and imagining how much better Feuilly would be doing as Enjolras' boyfriend. It was all moot. They both had significant others who were nuts about them. Enjolras cared about him. Grantaire could feel secure in that. Hell, if he kept repeating it as his positive self-talk mantra maybe someday he'd believe it.

Grantaire took another sip of his coffee. “So what are you doing until Feuilly gets out of work?”

“No real plans. I was thinking of checking out that used book store over by the coffee shop you guys hang out at. There are some cute looking consignment shops on that street too. Why...did you actually want to hang out with me?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Our boyfriends are besties. We should figure out how to be social without embarrassing each other all the time.”

She nodded. “Fair point. But do you really want to go dress shopping with me?”

“Of course not,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “But you guys can leave me at the bookstore when you're in the consignment shops.”

Enjolras arched a brow. “Oh, I'm invited to this too?”

“C'mon, you know you need new clothes. And Rose is good at this stuff. Not just, like finding clothes but finding them for cheap. I think we should do the hospitable thing and keep her company while she's waiting for Feuilly to get out of work.”

Rose made an excited squealing noise. “Oh my god, oh my god! Enjolras, would you seriously go clothes shopping with me? I would love to color match for you and your fucking flawless complexion and perfect hair. Seriously, I have sooooo many thoughts from when I tried to go blond. Don't ask, it didn't work for my skin tone at all and my roots grew in way too fast to keep it up. But your hair is supposed to look like that and I just, I have thoughts and so many feelings about color palettes.”

“Enj is genderqueer,” Grantaire said. Enjolras squeezed his hand in response, in a manner that probably wasn't meant as a show of affection.

Rose blinked. “I haven't heard that one yet.”

“He wears makeup.”

“Sometimes,” Enjolras said sharply.

Rose, meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early. She smacked her hand over her mouth, but her whisper of, “He's like my own living Barbie,” was still audible.

Grantaire tried to hide his grin with his coffee cup. He'd managed to get Enjolras' death-glare up to a whole new level of terrifying. Not bad, considering how early in the day it was.

* * *

Despite the fact that Enjolras professed himself thoroughly uninterested in clothes shopping and his ardent attempts to resist Rose's pleas, he did indeed wind up being dragged through every consignment shop on the street while Grantaire browsed through the bookstore. They met up again at the Musain in the early evening. Eponine shot Enjolras a pointed look when he walked through the door, and once they were seated in their usual spot in the back she strolled over and stood over them with her hands on her hips.

“Hey, Goldilocks. It's your day off. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You shouldn't be swearing while you're on the clock. And I've asked you repeatedly not to call me Goldilocks.”

“Would you be open to dyeing your hair?” Rose twirled a strand of it around her finger. “Or maybe adding some color. An ombre in red would look sooooo cute with the skirt we got for you.”

“Wait, you bought a skirt?” They'd both come in laden with shopping bags, but Grantaire hadn't discussed the purchases with them yet. “Can I see it?”

Enjolras' face was crimsoning nicely, although as usual it was difficult to tell if it was from embarrassment or suppressed rage. Possibly both. “Eponine, can you please go back out front? I'm sure there are customers you could be helping.”

“Dude, you are off the clock. You don't get to boss me around today. Or should I be calling you dudette? I didn't know you were a cross dresser.”

“Eponine, get out front. _Now_.”

“Okay, okay. Chill out, lady-dude.” She turned on her heel and reluctantly returned to the counter. Grantaire was sitting at an angle that let him peer into the main room, and he could see Eponine take up her post by the register, and immediately slip her phone out of her apron pocket and start scrolling through social media. She didn't look up until a customer walked up to the counter and cleared their throat to get her attention.

It was a good thing Enjolras couldn't see the counter from his seat.

“For the record, I'm not actually out about being genderqueer.” Enjolras' voice was low, with a forced sort of calm that indicated he was super pissed off.

“Why not?” Rose asked. “Your coworkers all know you're gay. Why would they care that you rock dresses and makeup?”

“People get weird about perceived transgressions of gender norms. It's not the same as sexual orientation, for some reason. Besides, being a white, able bodied, seemingly cisgendered gay male is about as mainstream as one can get within the community. Some of them have been treating me like I'm Neil Patrick Harris or something. They're very content to let my sexual orientation go. I'm not as confident about my gender identity being well received.”

“Feuilly said you never really go femme, that like the most you slide with the fluidity is towards agender.” Grantaire nodded towards the shopping bags. “Is this new?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. The flush wasn't leaving his face either. He actually looked really upset, and not just by Enjolras-standards. This was a more universal sort of irritated look.

“I'll be right back.” Enjolras got up and left for the restroom.

Rose shot Grantaire a nervous look. “Shit. What should I say to him when he comes back?”

“Fuck if I know. This gender stuff is new to me, too. Before now I've only hung out with cis gays.”

“Feuilly said you're not supposed to out people without their permission. I just kinda assumed that...that Enjolras _was_ out. I mean, he's pretty chatty about activist stuff and we actually had some really good conversations about gender presentation while we were clothes shopping. I...I thought it went really well, and that I was bonding with your boy. Shit. I screwed everything up.”

“Rose, calm down.” One thing Grantaire had picked up a long time ago about these mistakes was that you only made it worse if you made it about yourself and how upset you were. “When he comes back, just apologize. He's just cooling off. Enjolras has a temper problem. He's going to take some deep breaths and shit so he doesn't bite our heads off.”

“I'm sorry, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Actually, yeah. It means he values us enough that he doesn't want to make things worse because he's emotional. If he didn't care, he'd just unload on us and leave.”

“Oh.” Rose frowned. “Actually, that makes sense.”

“Right? I think that might be how healthy people do things.”

While they were waiting for Enjolras to cool off, Courfeyrac and Joly wandered in. Courfeyrac's hair was a darker shade of blue than it had been the other night. Rose eyed him with interest, and asked him how often he switched up his hair styles.

“No real pattern. It's mostly an impulsive sort of thing.”

She patted her own voluminous and flowing hair. “I meticulously plan every change I make regarding my hair. I'm a bit envious of your flexibility, but then...there's a very good reason I can't be impulsive. My hair's not very forgiving, sadly. It took years to get it this nice and healthy. It looks just like Grantaire's if I mistreat it even the slightest bit.”

“Yup.” Grantaire slid down in his seat so she could ruffle his gravity defying hobbit hair in demonstration. “Hey Jol, Feuilly showed me an old picture of you with pink hair. You planning on ever doing something like that again?”

“Eugh, no. That was a...I'd just come out. Dyeing my hair a girly girl color was supposed to be some powerful statement. Also, I was sixteen.” He laughed at himself, then smacked a hand over his face. “I'd forgotten Feuilly had a picture of that. Do you think we can convince him to burn it? I only kept it fuchsia for like a week because it looked so bad.”

Enjolras walked up to the table and sat down between Rose and Grantaire. He had a plate of cookies with him, and based on the carefully neutral but thin lipped expression he wore, he was still feeling touchy. Grantaire made a mental note to tread carefully. “You're talking about hair color? Rose is under the impression I should dye some of my hair red.” Well, that was an olive branch if ever Grantaire had seen one. Grantaire could sooner see Enjolras campaign for a Republican than invite a group chat about his appearance.

Courfeyrac scrunched his face up, clearly trying to visualize Enjolras with red hair. “I dunno, dude. You look really good as a blond. I don't think you should mess with it.”

“I'm not saying go full ginger,” Rose said. “Enjolras, can I touch your hair?”

“Sure.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair, starting along his scalp but stopping about three quarters down, pausing in the vicinity of his jawline. “Start the red here, but make it a fade that builds in intensity until you get to the tips. And I mean a really strong crimson color. Tell me that wouldn't be totally hot.”

“Oh, so like an ombre. I got it,” Courfeyrac said. “But Enjolras, way more people would mistake you for a girl. I mean, you're already getting it kind of a lot just because you let your hair grow out. If you get like _the_ feminine hair style of Instagram that's only going to get worse.”

“It'd be a pretty feminine look to go for, yeah,” Rose said with a sigh. She fluffed Enjolras' hair, then leaned back into her own seat and snagged one of the cookies. “Anyway, it was just an idea.”

Enjolras thoughtfully touched the tips of his hair. “Does that mean people might start assuming Grantaire is straight?”

Grantaire let out a snort. “Please. I've been told to my face more than once that I don't dress nice enough to really be gay. I get perceived as straight no matter what. Your appearance isn't going to change shit.”

There was definitely something going on with the look Enjolras was giving him, but Grantaire couldn't for the life of him decipher it, and he was wary of questioning him too much while they were out in public. He made a mental note to ask Enjolras what was going on later.

“By the way, Enjolras, I'm really sorry about-”

Enjolras cut Rose off before she got any further. She looked worried, but he gently touched her arm, a small, friendly smile on his face. “It's fine. Let's move on though, okay?”

“Yeah. Cool. Moving on sounds good. Um...at some point can you like, I dunno, give me a list or something? Of like what I can talk about with people and what I can't? I just fucked up because you were so open about everything before.”

“We missed something,” Courfeyrac loudly stage whispered to Joly.

“Because you spent too long styling your stupid hair,” Joly stage whispered back.

“Oh please. That only took like fifteen minutes.”

“Did the hour and a half feel like fifteen minutes to you?”

Courfeyrac kicked his calf under the table. “Jerk.”

“I'm far too sweet to be a jerk, and you, my friend, are a vain, primping peacock.”

“Yes, but the important part is I look fabulous.”

Enjolras smirked at his friends, then turned his attention back to Rose. “We can talk about it later. For now, I think you'd be better off chatting with Courfeyrac about haircare. You said you wanted to get to know Feuilly's friends better now that things are getting serious. Courfeyrac likes fashion almost as much as you do.”

Rose hesitated a moment, scanning Enjolras' face carefully for any sign of discomfort, but he kept up his encouraging friendly smile, so she switched chairs to be closer to Courfeyrac. She shoved her phone at him and started scrolling. “This is my old makeup blog. I haven't updated it in forever but I was thinking of getting it going again.”

“Oh my god. If you do, I will totally model for you any day of the week. Can we do something with that rainbow highlighter for Pride?”

“I don't think I still have that one. But I can get more. If you want to do rainbows, I can do rainbows.”

As Enjolras wasn't actually terribly enthused about hanging out at his work on his day off, he and Grantaire made quiet plans to leave once Feuilly showed up. They'd only been planning on keeping Rose company until he got out of work, but he'd been out for nearly an hour. Even with the inconsistencies of the bus, it shouldn't have taken him that long to get to the Musain.

Grantaire checked the time on his phone and impatiently tapped his fingers on the table. He wanted to give his mom a call to talk about the lunch thing, but he also wanted to do that at home, where he could give the call his full attention. Where the fuck was Feuilly?

He was just about to text him when Feuilly finally strolled in. He must have gone home to change, because he wasn't wearing his work shirt, but a flattering fitted t-shirt. Once again, he was sans Red Sox cap and his curls were arranged in a charmingly messy sort of way that meant he'd spent a lot of time and effort getting them to look just right.

Okay, that was actually pretty endearing. Apparently Rose was not the only one who was a bit giddy about their significant other.

“Baby!” Rose held out her arms and he bent down to hug her and give her a quick kiss before sitting in the chair next to her.

“Sorry for running late. I decided to put Enjolras' bed together before I came over, and it took a little longer than I expected.”

Grantaire looked at his phone again and then glanced back up at Feuilly. “Did you leave work early?”

“Nope.”

“So you got that monster together by yourself in less than an hour?” Grantaire asked incredulously. Feuilly only smirked in response. “Rose, keep him. We can use him for projects.”

“Okay, I'll keep my amazing boyfriend just on the basis of that one thing, and only because you asked.”

Courfeyrac laughed loudly, and reached across the table to poke Rose's shoulder. “I like you. Any chance you can make more trips this way to hang out with us? This is like a seriously needed dynamic in our group. We've got barely any girls and, like, no straights.”

“Bahorel,” half the table chimed in.

“Okay, yeah, Bahorel. But that's it. Everyone else is like at least part queer.”

Rose laughed. “So you need to collect me to fill a heterosexual quota? God, it sounds ridiculous when you do it the other way.”

“It sounds ridiculous when straight people try to add a token queer friend too,” Enjolras grumbled.

Grantaire ruffled his hair. “That's the point. Courfeyrac's being ridiculous on purpose, Enj. Quit being huffy.”

“I'm not huffy.”

He was very huffy. “I think it's time for us to get going. Feuilly, thanks for setting up the bed.”

“You're welcome, _Grantaire_ ,” he said, with a pointed look in Enjolras' direction. “Will I see you later tonight, or are you staying at Grantaire's again?”

“I'm not sure.” Enjolras stood up from the table and gathered his shopping bags. “I guess it depends how late we stay out. Rose, in case I don't see you again before you head home, it was very nice spending time with you today and I will be in touch.”

“Groovy. You want to do anything to that gorgeous hair of yours, you make sure you come to me or I will take offense. Bye, Grantaire. Make sure you remember to call Mom.”

He flipped her the bird on the way out the door, and finally the two of them managed to leave the cafe that they both spent far too much of their life at.

Enjolras self-consciously pushed a long strand of hair out of his face. “What is it with your family and my hair?”

“It's not just us, Enj. The whole world has noticed that you have hypnotically beautiful golden tresses.”

“Ugh.”

* * *

“Grantaire? Did your finger slip when you were going through your contacts, sweetie? You called home.”

“I-I know, Mom. I'm calling you on purpose.” That might have been guilt nagging at the edges of Grantaire's consciousness. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore it.

“Oh. Is everything okay? You don't need money again, do you?”

“No, everything's fine. Uh...Rose is in town.”

“Yes, I know. She's coming back home tomorrow morning. She was in your city to visit that boy she likes.”

“Feuilly. Her boyfriend.”

“For now.”

Grantaire flipped off the ceiling, and made an effort to keep his tone even. He was once again sprawled over his bed for the awkward conversation, his preferred spot for talking to family. “Anyway, we hung out for a little while and she said you wanted to meet up with me and Enjolras.”

“Sweetie, I've been telling you that since I found out you were dating him. How is he doing, anyway? Does he like his new apartment? Is it lonely? Do you think he'd consider moving back in with you?”

He might as well just keep his finger pointed at the ceiling. “Nah, I think he likes living with Feuilly. They're really good friends, you know. They go back a ways.”

“Oh. Yes, well then it makes sense that they would enjoy being roommates. Have you thought about looking for an apartment together, for all three of you? I know it might be a bit odd while Rose is still seeing that boy, but once they break up I'm sure it will be perfectly charming for you to live with some friends that are your own age. And Enjolras seems like such a nice, respectable young man. He must have been a great help to you while you were living together.”

“Enjolras is great. Feuilly's cool, too. He practically moved in all their furniture by himself and he put Enjolras' bed together for him. But I don't think they want a third roommate. They just got settled into their two bedroom.”

“Oh. Well, maybe sometime down the line you can revisit that idea. In the meantime, sweetheart, I do think you should see about getting a new roommate. You sounded so much happier when you weren't living alone.”

“How could you tell?”

“Well, for one thing, you picked up the phone when I called you.”

She had him there.

“Uh...well, anyway, is it cool if we swing by next week? Enjolras has Wednesday off. We could, like, take you out to lunch or something.”

“Grantaire, are you sure you don't need anything?”

“Mom, have I really been so bad at this stuff that me showing up for a visit is this effing suspicious?” He paused. “Don't answer that. Look, if I needed something I would just tell you. Rose honestly made me feel like a bad, neglectful son. I needed a kick to get me going on this. But for real, I would actually like to take you out to lunch and have you get to know my boyfriend a little better. Okay?”

There was a muffled sound, like Sylvie had pulled the phone away from her face, but he could faintly make out an excited squeal. “All right, sweetpea. I'll keep Wednesday open. What time do you think you'll be able to get here?”

They planned out the fussier details of the outing, and while they were talking Enjolras strolled into the room, wearing a loose fitting pair of Grantaire's pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt with a low collar that dipped down around his collar bone. Grantaire was momentarily distracted, but then Enjolras sat down behind him on the bed and started running his fingers through Grantaire's hair. That was a bit distracting in a different way, but also sort of grounding. Anyway, he calmed down enough to stop flipping off the ceiling while his mother went on somewhat self-absorbed rants. She also somehow managed to sneak in a few more barbs about Rose and Feuilly before they hung up, despite their irrelevance to the conversation.

“Damn. Mom does not like Feuilly.”

“But she likes me? Weird.”

“Right?” Grantaire tilted his head back so he could look up at Enjolras. “Not that you're not totally loveable or anything, it's just that if she likes and approves of my impoverished working class boy, she ought to feel the same about Rose's.”

“Well, I wasn't always working class. That might be the difference.” Enjolras smoothed back a particularly defiant strand of hair. The petting was really nice. Grantaire closed his eyes and let out a pleased hum. “R...I'm sorry I was so snippish with you and Rose today. I've already sent her a PM about it.”

“S'okay. We're insensitive sometimes. We were raised together so we have a lot of the same foot-in-mouth tendencies. Rose didn't realize you weren't out about being genderqueer and I honestly still don't know much about it, so we weren't sure what we could say in public. And I'm not, like being lazy about it. I've looked up info on it but it's so...so broad. It seems like everyone who's genderqueer approaches it differently. There aren't, like, really many rules to guide us ignorant cis people when we're talking about it, y'know?”

“I know. That's why I figured I ought to clarify a few things. I'm okay with talking about it around people we trust, but I'd rather my coworkers not know. Now that Eponine does though...urgh. I guess I'm out at work whether I want to be or not.”

“Enj, I'm really sorry.”

“Don't worry about it, Grantaire. I should have been more clear with both of you about that.” He switched from petting Grantaire's hair to massaging his neck and shoulders. Grantaire closed his eyes and basked in the attention, feeling utterly spoiled. “I'm not ashamed of it, or anything like that. I'd just rather not have to get into it with close minded cis people that I can't walk away from, that's all. I have no choice but to deal with the Thenardier girls and Nick and Mabeuf and Louison and the rest, and if they're not receptive then it just means that's another tension in the workplace and it's already pretty damn tense.”

Reluctantly, Grantaire sat up and turned around so that he was facing Enjolras. He grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Well, if you need me to beat anyone up just say the word. I'll get a posse together.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “And who do you think is going to assist you in beating up an elderly man, two teenage girls, and a single mother?”

“Okay, so it'll be a selective Musain mauling. I'm not the only one who's been looking for a reason to punch Pontmercy in the face.”

“Courfeyrac looked better today, didn't he?”

Grantaire nodded, and accepted the subject change. “Yeah, maybe our little intervention with him yesterday was a good thing.”

“I think so. For the record, I don't think Marius has been doing any of this on purpose. He's rather used to people taking care of him. He doesn't seem to have noticed that there was anything weird or inappropriate about it.”

“...fucking really?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I know. I'm not saying it's right, I'm just saying it wasn't malicious. Now that his attention has been drawn to it, I imagine he'll strive to be better. From what I can tell, he'll want to preserve his friendship with Courfeyrac if he can.”

Grantaire wasn't so sure about that, but he decided against pressing it. Enjolras had to work with the damn puppy three shifts a week, whether he was an asshole or not. Grantaire couldn't fault him for wanting the guy to be possibly a better human being than he really was.

“So, um. About my gender...”

“Hm?” Were they still talking about that.

Apparently they were, because Enjolras' discomfort had returned in full. Grantaire wondered if he should lie back down and have Enjolras pet his hair again, as that had seemed to calm him as much as it had calmed Grantaire. “I was just wondering, um. How...how tied to binaries you are when defining yourself.”

Grantaire felt a little lost. The confusion must have shown on his face.

“It's just, just you've always said you were gay. Like, _only_ interested in men. I know I'm not the most...most traditionally masculine looking male to begin with, but if I were to push things a little...that is. Okay, well you like when I wear makeup, but my makeup style so far hasn't been exactly excessively feminine. If I were to...um.”

“Wear skirts and shit?” Grantaire prodded as gently as he could. Enjolras' face was flushed, and his gaze was focused somewhere on the wall above Grantaire's head.

“This was a lot less scary when I was contemplating dating a bisexual.”

“Hey.” Grantaire squeezed his hand and waited for Enjolras to look at him. “Talking to me about anything shouldn't be scary.”

“Well it is. You're being really good about this though. I'm just nervous. I've...never once in my life received any sort of positive reinforcement about looking feminine. It still feels really wrong to even want to call attention to my femininity. And where my boyfriend is gay...”

“You're afraid I won't be attracted to you anymore?” Grantaire did his absolute best to keep his expression serious, when in reality he'd never wanted to laugh harder in his life. He was pretty sure there was literally nothing Enjolras could do to make himself less enchanting to him. Grantaire was hooked in the most thorough way.

“Look, I've honestly spent a lot less time on the nuances of this identity shit than you and some of the others have. I've said I'm gay because that made the most sense and I've never really explored it beyond that. But I'm in love with you, and if you're something between male and female then I'm attracted to whatever that is, and I'll take on a new label if you want. I love you, whether you're wearing pants or a dress or whatever. It's still you, after all.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Grantaire bit back on saying it, but he was very tempted to add that he was once more doing the absolute bare fucking minimum of not being an asshole in supporting his partner. Instead he asked if he could see Enjolras' new skirt.

It was very clear, as soon as Enjolras started laying out his new outfits, that he hadn't been the one to pay for all of the new clothes. He was too cheap, and thought fashion too trifling a concern for him to focus on in his current circumstances. Rose, who was incredibly pushy, must have taken advantage of the fact that Enjolras didn't know her very well yet, and wanted to come across as polite as possible by not fighting with her.

At any rate, Grantaire decided to send his sister a fruit basket or something. Enjolras would be able to wear two of the new pairs of pants he'd bought to work, and the rest of the new clothes reflected his own personal sense of style better than anything he'd brought from home with him.

He could tell which skirt Rose had been referring to when she'd talked about Enjolras' hair earlier. It was very clearly to her taste: deep crimson in a stiff material that came halfway down Enjolras' calf, very 50s and classy. The asymmetrical, ripped up black skirt with the slit up the side was definitely more to Enjolras' taste, and possibly Grantaire's, although he'd never really thought about what kind of skirts would flatter his boyfriend before.

“I think I like this one,” he said.

“It fit fairly well. I think I need some leggings or something before I can wear it though.” Enjolras bit his lower lip. “Grantaire, if this is weird...”

“I'd tell you,” Grantaire promised him. “But I don't think it's weird. I think...I think this is really cool, honestly. Like, that you've got this unique style going and that you want to start showing it. You know what you said before, that you'd be happy with me as I were if I were just happier with myself? Same goes for you, Enj. I don't care if you keep growing your hair out and wear makeup and wear dresses and skirts. If that's what makes you happy then I'm happy, okay?”

Enjolras didn't say anything, but the small smile he wore while he packed the new clothes back up conveyed volumes.

This time, the positive self-talk came on its own without any effort on Grantaire's part. He felt like he was rather rocking this boyfriend thing, which was a satisfying if somewhat alien feeling.

* * *

Grantaire tried to convince Enjolras to stay the night, but since he finally had his own bed again he was insistent on using it. He'd even splurged and bought new bedding for it. Considering how stingy Enjolras was with money, Grantaire took the purchases to indicate that this meant something to him, so he finally stopped being a brat and reluctantly walked Enjolras to his door.

“Sorry for being so clingy.”

“It's okay. It's kind of cute.” Enjolras gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “I suppose I'm clingy too, because I almost asked you to sleep over my place at least a dozen times tonight.”

“I could do that.”

“R, I think it might be a good idea to actually spend the night apart. Considering how we're both responding to the idea.”

Grantaire let out an affected sigh. “Fine, if you insist on being all reasonable about it. I'll miss you though.”

“I'm going to be a block away for like eight hours, and then you can come visit me at work.”

“Eugh, not when you're working an opening. I will see you tomorrow though. Just, y'know, not before noon.”

“Good night, Grantaire.”

“Night.” He leaned in for a quick peck, and then Enjolras slipped out the door. Grantaire sighed, and kept up a mantra of the positive self-talk as he got ready for bed so he wouldn't think about how pathetic and clingy he was being. But his bed didn't look nearly as inviting when Enjolras wasn't curled up on his side of it.

He ended up on the sofa instead, figuring he might as well settle in for a night of insomnia. He'd gotten so used to sleeping with Enjolras beside him that he didn't think his broken brain was going to just let him fall asleep after such a dramatic change. But maybe he was doing better in general, because he did nod off not even halfway through an episode of Great British Baking Show.

He was very rudely pulled from his sound and healthful sleep by his phone chiming with a series of texts from Enjolras. From the looks of it he'd gotten into some sort of fight with Feuilly. At least, that's what Grantaire thought he was reading. Auto correct was not being kind to Enjolras' agitated fingers and it made the messages a trick to decipher.

Grantaire started to text back, but then his phone lit up with texts from Feuilly, demanding to know exactly what he'd spilled to Enjolras from their very private conversation.

“What? Nothing. I-I didn't tell him anything. I...oh, fuck.” Grantaire kicked off the blanket, then ran into his room to pull on some pants.

Twenty minutes later he was standing on Feuilly and Enjolras' doorstep, feeling very cranky and desperately wanting to drop back to sleep at the nearest convenience, but worried enough about the new roommates that he knew he wouldn't be able to unless he saw them resolve their fight.

Feuilly was the one to open the door. He was wearing pajamas, which meant he was wearing a loose fitting t-shirt without a binder or a bra. Grantaire took pains to make eye contact, as his instinctual response was to gape at the odd shapes under the shirt that didn't belong.

“You didn't have to come over.” He sounded tired, and not just because they both wanted to be in bed so damn much. There was a weariness going on in his tone, like he was just fucking done with whatever was going on and with his day in general.

“Probably not, but it's not like I was going to fall back asleep with you and Enjolras blowing up my phone. It looked like he was freaking out.”

“Yeah, well, yeah. He's in his room. I gave up trying to talk to him.”

“For the record, I didn't tell him anything about what you told me.” Grantaire toed his shoes off and then walked into the living room. He dropped onto the couch, as standing and walking were not high on his list of priorities on a rare night when his body actually wanted to cooperate with his desire to sleep. Feuilly followed after him, tiredly tugging at his hair as he walked.

“I didn't think you would, but...shit. It's just been awkward as ass the past few weeks and I know I'm the one doing it. It's my shit and it's in my head but it's just kind of hit a breaking point and I guess I started taking it out on him tonight. But he didn't even thank me for setting up the bed, and he couldn't have made it more clear that he's going to be fucking you in it. Sorry, but you know about our history. That's not fucking sensitive, okay?”

“Wait, what?” Grantaire gaped at Feuilly, trying and failing to make sense of what he'd said. “Enjolras talked about fucking me?”

“Well, not in so many words,” Feuilly admitted. “But he made this comment about how now that he had a real bed you could sleep over here some of the time and, I dunno. It just didn't land right. It felt like a dig.”

“Dude, I think you just misinterpreted him. I mean, does that even sound like a dig Enjolras would make? Besides, we're not having sex.”

“I know, but...wait, still?” Feuilly rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand and bit back a yawn. “But you said you guys figured out he wasn't asexual.”

“Yeah, well my other suspicion turned out to be true. You know, my idea about why he freezes up when someone touches him and stuff?”

Feuilly blinked a few times as realization hit. “He did that with you too. That's why you even thought of asexuality. It wasn't just me.”

“No,” Grantaire said, and cringed as he watched the effect his words had on his friend. “It had nothing to do with you being trans.”

“Fuck. Okay, I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot and an asshole and I don't fucking deserve him, obviously, since I jumped to such a stupid and self-centered conclusion instead of actually talking to him and trying to help him.”

“Hey, walk it back. You're being too hard on yourself.” Grantaire got up and gave Feuilly's shoulder a squeeze. “I'm an asshole. You're amazing.”

“You wouldn't be saying that if you'd been here a half hour ago, when I was screaming at your boyfriend. Look, go...go talk to Enjolras. I need some time, okay?”

“Feuilly, uh...before you go. I've been sitting on something else and I'd rather just tell you.”

Feuilly winced. “I dunno, R. I think I've got enough to process for one night.”

“No, this is good news. I think it'll help. Rose is really into you. Like, for real. I've never seen her like this with a guy before. So...like, don't sabotage it by pulling a me-move and going self-fulfilling prophecy with your insecurities. She's not gonna dump you for being trans.”

“I dunno, dude. Like, we're having fun right now and everything, but I think that's all this is to her.”

“No, Feuilly, it's not. Trust me. She's my big sister. I've witnessed every relationship she's had from the sidelines. You're different. She actually cares about you.” He tried to think of a way to get through to Feuilly, and then remembered he was a fellow animation nerd. “You're David the tutor to her Quinn Morgendorffer.”

He couldn't tell if Feuilly got what he was saying or not, but the conversation was definitely over either way. Feuilly wished him a good night, and then disappeared into his room.

With a reluctant sigh, Grantaire approached Enjolras' room and knocked on the door.

“Get the fuck away from me! I said I'm done fighting.”

“Enj, it's me.”

The door was pulled open almost immediately. Enjolras looked almost wild when his red-rimmed eyes landed on Grantaire. “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire held out his phone. “I couldn't make heads or tails of your texts and it was starting to freak me out, so I figured I'd just show up on your doorstep. Remember, like you told me to?”

Enjolras yanked him into the room, shut the door behind him, and then immediately sank into Grantaire's waiting arms. “Oh sure, you came here out of pure obedience.”

“How are you this sarcastic when you're very clearly happy to have the comfort?” Grantaire fondly brushed back some of Enjolras' hair and dropped a kiss on his head. “Do you want to talk?”

“Maybe in a few minutes. I'm still worked up.”

“Yeah, I got that from my reception. It sounded like you were ready to rip Feuilly's head off.”

“Well he was unforgivably rude. He...that is, he implied that-”

“I already talked to him a little. Don't worry, he feels like shit over the fight.”

Enjolras frowned. “That doesn't make me feel better.”

“Nah, I didn't really think it would.”

They got settled on Enjolras' bed. Grantaire felt it a safe bet that Prouvaire had already been by, since it smelled of two warring fragrances; pungent sage and floral Febreeze. He glanced around the room and spotted some pretty rocks sitting on one of the windowsills, which was enough to confirm his suspicion.

“So...what happened?”

Enjolras frowned. “I don't really know. It's just, he's been really short tempered with me lately. I'm not sure how much you've picked up on, since the three of us aren't together that much. But there have been lots of little jabs, I guess. He started getting cattier and cattier with me the closer we got to moving in together, and for a little while we could go an entire day without him saying one sentence to me that didn't have an undercurrent of cruelty to it. I...I almost took you up on your offer to just stay with you, because if living with him is going to be like this...I don't know what I did. I mean, I have a thought, but...but he shouldn't still be mad at me over that.”

“Enj, that wasn't that much better than your texts.”

“I'm sorry. It'd help if I knew what the hell was going on. Then I'm sure I'd be able to convey everything to you.” He was all but pouting. Damn, but this was going to take longer to unravel than Grantaire wanted.

Still, he was determined to have a productive conversation followed by cuddles and blessed sleep. Enjolras and Feuilly were too important to each other, and also to Grantaire, for them to be fighting like this.

“Well, I don't want to get into the middle of this,” despite the fact that he was very clearly butting directly into the middle of things, “but I think you and Feuilly need to have a serious talk. You've been misreading each other over some pretty important stuff and he's being bitchy because he's still stinging over that.”

Enjorlas narrowed his eyes. “He told you.”

“That you dated? Or, tried to, I guess. Yeah, it came up the other day.”

Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire and sat at the other end of the bed with his legs tucked up against his chest. Grantaire kept his distance, although it felt like a rebuke and it stung. “To be fair, you mentioned it too. You just didn't tell me it was Feuilly.”

“Of course I didn't. Because we said we were going to go back to being friends, like nothing had ever happened. And instead he's gossiping about me with my boyfriend and attacking me over resentment he won't even address with me. I can't believe how petulant, how...how awful this-it's unfair. I don't deserve this. I didn't _do_ anything. Grantaire, you know _exactly_ why I couldn't start a relationship then. I told you about the timing.”

Grantaire nodded. “You did, yeah. You told me. But you didn't tell Feuilly and he...he made something else of it.”

“I told him I wasn't ready to date. That was entirely true, I just didn't tell him why I wasn't ready and I didn't think I had to. I still don't. It's not something he needs to know to be friends with me.”

“No, of course not. But that doesn't stop a guy's mind from picking at it. And...” Grantaire hesitated. He knew he shouldn't, but it didn't stop him. “It probably didn't help when you were suddenly ready to date a cis guy a few months later.”

Enjolras let out a quiet gasp, very obviously hurt. Then he turned defensive. “I wasn't really ready, I just fell so hard that I'm ignoring my better judgment and...wait. Does Feuilly think this has something to do with him being trans?” Enjolras scowled. “Great. So my closest friend, or the man I'd _thought_ was my closest friend but who clearly doesn't actually know me at all, has secretly been harboring anger and resentment due to the fact that he believes I'm a shallow, transphobic hypocrite. I want to _strangle_ him.”

“Enjolras, pause, take a breath, and try to see it from Feuilly's perspective, okay?”

Enjolras glared at him. “I just gave you his perspective, didn't I?”

“No, that was your hurt feelings speaking. This is how I see it. Feuilly's been friends with you for years, right?”

“Supposedly. I'd certainly _thought_ so.”

“Right. And you met him before he transitioned.”

“I helped him when he transitioned. I was the first person he told.”

“Kay.” Grantaire scooched a little closer towards Enjolras, but still kept plenty of distance between them. He hoped Enjolras might meet him in the middle, but he remained where he was, hugging his knees to his chest and nervously darting his eyes around the room, fixing his sights anywhere but on his boyfriend.

It certainly wasn't encouraging, but Grantaire picked up his train of thought anyway and continued.

“So, at some point he started developing feelings for you. Hell, maybe he had them from the get-go. I know I fell in love with you right the fuck away. Maybe it happened like that with Feuilly too. But it didn't lead to anything until he was firmly identifying as male, what with you being gay and all.”

“He started flirting with me after he hit a point in his transition where strangers started using the correct pronouns without being told,” Enjolras said. “He'd been on T for a little over a year, he had some facial hair, and he found a type of binder he liked that he could wear for long periods of time without too much discomfort. And yes, that is when I started thinking of him as a romantic prospect. He...he got hot.”

“I'm guessing he was probably cute when he looked like a chick too, but yeah, he's hot. Was he the one that asked you out?”

Enjolras nodded. “I tried to give him some signals that I wanted him to, but, well...you know how good I am at trying to flirt.”

“Okay, so you guys go on some awkward dates, which doesn't seem totally unusual for friends trying to change the nature of their relationship. I wouldn't know from experience, but it wouldn't surprise me if things felt a little forced, a little off.”

Enjolras nodded. “That's exactly how it felt. There was a weird sort of formality, like we were strangers even though, at that point, he knew me more intimately than anyone else.”

“Right. So after a couple of these dates, you call him in a panic one night, won't tell him any details about some big fight with your parents, and then afterwards you shut down on him completely. Now maybe, if his confidence was good, he might have realized that your reaction was because of the fight with your parents that you won't talk about, and that something else is going on. But because he's already got these hang ups about cis people dumping him out of the blue, and because the first dates weren't going as well as he wanted them to either, maybe he missed what the real cause of your aloofness was, and his insecurity decided that it had to be something to do with him. That's...I mean, honestly, that's what I would have done in his place. I'd have assumed something about me repulsed you and made you change your mind about dating. And if my insecurities were related to being trans, when you met a cis boy and started dating him I'd definitely take it the wrong way.”

Enjolras shook his head. “When we decided to stop going on dates and remain friends instead, he insisted he was fine. He said that he'd noticed the awkwardness too. And when he picked up on my feelings for you, he encouraged me to ask you out. He said from the get-go that he thought we'd be good for each other, well before I was even willing to admit I liked you. H-he realized I had a crush on you before he even met you.”

“Mm. Almost like he was hyper attuned to you in a desperately sort of pining way, huh? Maybe he thought seeing you move on would help him move on.”

Enjolras scrunched his face up. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“Enjolras, you are looking at this situation with very different emotions and a lot more self-confidence. Pretend like you hate yourself and expect other people to find you revolting, and try again.”

“But Feuilly doesn't hate himself. I think you're trying too hard to make him like you.”

“That's fair, I guess.” Grantaire shrugged. “You'll have to ask him. You guys do need to talk. Anyway, I don't think it's fair to be mad at him. He can't help having hurt feelings.” Grantaire wanted to grab Enjolras by the shoulders, give him a good shake, and scream in his face that Feuilly was fucking in love with him and therefore suffering quite enough without Enjolras' anger on top of it.

“He could help his hurt feelings a great deal by being open with me.”

“Oh, you mean like how you totally told him the real reason you couldn't date?”

For a second, Grantaire thought Enjolras was going to hit him. But he didn't move from the end of the bed. He took a slow, deliberate breath, and then turned his back on Grantaire. “I thought you were here to make me feel better.”

“I'd like to. But I don't want to see you destroy your friendship with Feuilly, either. You guys need to get over this. You mean too much to each other.”

“I...I know. You're probably right. I should have made it clear that I wasn't really rejecting him so much as...I mean, at the time I didn't think I'd ever want to be with anyone again. Romantic behavior doesn't come naturally to me, and most of the time I find it overwhelming and embarrassing. I don't know why it changed when I was with you, but it did. I've...I'm still not really sure what I'm doing most of the time, but I'm not lost and flailing the way I was before.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, and then gave voice to a fear that had been eating away at him. “Really? Because Feuilly's a lot stronger than I am. I...I could see you guys being really good for each other.” His voice only shook a little when he admitted that, and then it was out in the open. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, sure that whatever Enjolras said in response, his heart was going to be wounded somehow.

“Is that what you want?” Enjolras' voice was so painfully small and sickeningly vulnerable. Grantaire immediately looked up, and then snapped his head down again. Enjolras' eyes were swimming with tears. “You want me to go out with Feuilly instead of you?”

“Of course not,” Grantaire said. “You're my fucking world, Enj. But I'd do anything for you and...Feuilly's better than me.” And Enjolras had enough of his own shit going on without having to take care of Grantaire and his stupid depression all the time. Feuilly would be better at supporting him. He'd already been supporting him for years, and it seemed possible he loved Enjolras as strongly as Grantaire did.

Enjolras' shaky voice broke through the foggy thoughts that Grantaire had been struggling to keep at bay. He sounded like he was in pain. Grantaire had never heard so much emotion in his voice before, since he habitually shut down before letting himself get to that point. “I don't love him, Grantaire. I love _you_. God knows why, since you seem determined to shatter me tonight, but most of the time you're amazingly good about my feelings. I wish we were at your home watching crap TV or something. I just want this night to be over.” He got up and started pacing.

Grantaire watched him for a minute, then held up a side of the blanket. “You look exhausted, Enjolras. Come lie down.”

“Are you done saying awful things?”

“I think so. I wasn't trying to be awful to begin with, so there's a good chance I could fuck up. I'm very dependable when it comes to fucking up.”

Enjolras wiped at his eyes, made an exasperated noise, and then quickly slid into bed beside Grantaire. He wrapped his arms around Grantaire and pressed his face into his t-shirt. It felt something like being cuddled by a freezing cold boa constrictor.

“Please don't do anything stupid, R. If you break up with me out of some misguided notion that you're doing a noble thing or doing me a favor, I'm not going to go out with Feuilly. I'll just die inside.”

“Enjolras, I'm not going to break up with you.”

“Promise? I'm being serious, Grantaire. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you won't dump me.”

Grantaire managed to squirm just enough from the frozen boa constrictor embrace that he could tilt Enjolras' chin up and drop a light kiss on his lips. “I promise, Enjolras. I won't dump you. That's actually my worst fear, too. I'd just find a way to deal with it if I thought you'd be happier in the end.”

“Well I wouldn't be. You've been so good for me, and maybe I'm the selfish one but I don't want to give you up. You're the best thing in my life right now and I want to keep you.”

Grantaire filed that away for unlimited future repetitions. He was going to summon this memory whenever his self-doubt and general issues twisted things around on him. Enjolras might have sounded like he'd been through the ringer, and indeed he had that night, but there was still unwavering faith and conviction in every quietly whispered syllable. Grantaire believed him. Even in the face of his mental illness, he believed in Enjolras.

“I love you,” he whispered, feeling inadequate once more as he failed to voice what he was feeling.

“I love you too. That's why I need you to stay with me and be mine.” Enjolras snuggled against him, the boa constrictor embrace relaxing into a gentler cuddle for sleep.

“I can definitely do that,” Grantaire promised. He held Enjolras, listening as his breathing evened out, and stroking his hair long after he fell asleep.

* * *

Grantaire had some semblance of memory of Enjolras' alarm going off in the morning and him stumbling out of bed, dragging his feet and cursing the Musain under his breath. He woke up a little more when Enjolras kissed him goodbye, and reminded him that he'd promised to visit him at work (Grantaire didn't remember making any such promise, but he also knew how much his boyfriend looked forward to seeing him when a shift went poorly and so wasn't exactly averse to the visit).

It was about noon when Grantaire finally exited Enjolras' bedroom. He glanced around the tiny apartment, trying to figure out if he was alone or not.

“You finally up?”

The voice from the kitchen firmly answered that. Grantaire went to join Feuilly, and found him sitting at the table scrolling through his phone and absently eating a grilled cheese. “Morning. How was the new bed?”

“Not bad. I think Jehan's dead great aunt invested in a fancy mattress.”

“No night terrors?”

Grantaire grinned and shook his head.

“Hm. I think Prouvaire will see that as his saging working. Well, whatever. It's not like I wanted some dead old lady haunting us. Um. Enjolras was up and out before I woke up too. Is he...very pissed off at me?”

“Eh. There's some pissiness there but I think he's mostly just hurt and doesn't know how to deal with it. He was pretty pissy with me last night too, and then clingy, and then, like, aggressively clingy. It was weird.” Grantaire sat down across from Feuilly and rubbed some sleep crusties from his eyes. “Now he thinks I'm going to dump him so the two of you can get together.”

Feuilly groaned. “That's so...fucking him, though. He's making this ridiculously complicated and it really doesn't need to be. Obviously, you're not going to dump him.”

Grantaire sighed. “Yeah, that's not even close to a thing.” Even if he had seriously considered it, he didn't have the will to carry it out. And, he suspected, his low self-esteem might have been twisting the idea into sounding like a better option than it really was.

“You guys are great together. You're bringing out all this really good stuff in him, R. He's more open and affectionate with you than I've ever seen him. It's nice. I like the changes I'm seeing. I couldn't be that for him, so I'm honestly happy to see someone else pulling it off.”

“Also, you're dating my sister.”

“Mm, that too. And it is going well.” Feuilly looked up from his phone. His expression was something akin to Enjolras' polite retail smile. Grantaire couldn't make heads or tails of it, or what was actually going on in that pretty little head of his. “Enjolras is freaking out over nothing. We're both in good relationships and we're both happy.”

“Yup.” Grantaire frowned. “You regret everything that went down between the two of you, don't you?”

“Oh, of course. I spent most of last night thinking over that night I picked him up from that resort his family had rented out. How I said, like, _none_ of the right things. I mean, he wasn't officially kicked out until a few days later, but essentially he was homeless from that point on. And I, just...wasn't there for him. Like, I helped him out, but, I dunno. On the surface he seemed fine so I just accepted that and didn't...I dunno. You would have gotten him to talk to you. You would've helped him.”

“I don't know about that.”

“He talks to you about everything. I don't know how you do it, R. But it's fucking uncanny. He's the most private person I've ever known, but he spills his soul to you. I do wish I'd been able to be that for him. But...it's not how things went, and I need to move on. I don't want to throw away a good thing with Rose because I'm still pining over him. I've been trying to get over him for months and I was making some really good progress. So yeah, in conclusion, I promise I am not trying to steal your boyfriend.”

“Or hurt my sister,” Grantaire added pointedly.

Feuilly looked up at him again. “About that. You said I was her David the tutor. You do know that David never returned Quinn's feelings, right?”

Grantaire frowned. “I was more thinking about Quinn's perspective. Damn. Please tell me I wasn't accidentally on point about that.”

“Nah, I like Rose. If you're telling the truth it does sound like she likes me a bit more than I like her, but I've been hung up on another guy and treating her like a welcome distraction. I should...I should focus on this a little more. Anyway, thanks for the heads up. Now if you'll put in a good word for me with Enjolras I'll consider you a personal guardian angel.”

“Dude, I'm trying.”

“Well, thank you. You're a good friend, R.”

Grantaire followed Feuilly out, and they parted ways on the sidewalk in front of the house, Feuilly off for a shift at the bookstore and Grantaire to go bug Enjolras at work.

Enjolras and Feuilly's discomfort with each other continued throughout the week. Grantaire could track it based on how often he saw his boyfriend. Friday was a pretty good day; Enjolras slept in his own bed that night and he was perfectly friendly when Feuilly showed up at the Musain with Joly to hang out and mooch a free coffee. Sunday was not so good; Enjolras got out of work at three o'clock and remained on Grantaire's couch until well past midnight.

Feuilly was working a late shift at the convenience store on Tuesday, which Grantaire assumed had something to do with him being invited over to Enjolras' apartment. He debated whether he wanted to coax Enjolras into talking about the on-again off-again fight and awkwardness during the walk over, and was still unsure exactly what he was going to do once he stepped inside and toed his shoes off. He'd follow Enjolras' moods and see what he could get accomplished.

Oh, he should probably pay attention to his own moods too. That was his new homework from his therapist to go with the positive self-talk. Instead of suppressing at least half of what he was feeling at a given moment and trying to hide behind sarcasm and humor, he was supposed to try to pay attention to his fluctuating moods and see if he could do anything about his anxiety before it built to the breaking point. His therapist had suggested starting a journal but Grantaire found himself too lazy for the project. Besides, as with the positive self-talk, he still wasn't sure it was actually going to do anything for him.

“It smells like food in here,” Grantaire observed.

Enjolras grinned at him, and then tugged him into the kitchen.

Enjolras and Feuilly had a plastic folding card table instead of a full kitchen table, with mismatched stools Feuilly had likely taken from the side of the road. He'd sanded both of them down and painted them with intricate designs that made them almost look like planned furnishings instead of recycled garbage.

The card table had been covered with an inexpensive but pretty looking tapestry, and a few flowers that Grantaire suspected to have originated from Prouvaire's windowsill were sitting in a paper Musain to-go cup in the middle. The table was set for two, with ice water already waiting next to the empty plates.

“Sit down.” Enjolras motioned towards the nicer stool, the one with the cushion on it, and Grantaire expectantly took his seat, amused at how proud Enjolras looked.

Well, amused and also intrigued. Enjolras had clearly primped a little. He was wearing his smoky eye again, and one of the nice new pairs of pants and a feminine cut top Grantaire was pretty sure he hadn't seen before. It was odd; considering how long his hair was, the clothing he was wearing and the makeup on his face, he really should have looked more feminine than he was. But the cut of the shirt called attention to his square shoulders and flat chest. Grantaire thought he still looked like a very attractive man. He was simply a very attractive man in a spangly red blouse.

“You didn't wear that to work, did you?” Grantaire asked. If memory served, Enjolras had worked an opening shift. He probably hadn't worn the makeup either, since his preparation for openings tended to consist of waking himself up with a scalding shower, throwing on whatever was clean, and stumbling down the street to work.

“Of course not,” Enjolras said. “Being out about being genderqueer isn't as bad as I expected though. Eponine and Azelma keep giving me clothes and makeup, and I think Mabeuf thinks I'm a trans woman. He keeps calling me sweetheart and he'll run across the room to get the door for me, 'because a gentleman should always hold the door for a lady'. No one's actually been mean spirited. Actually...Nick gave me permission to throw customers out of the cafe if there's ever a problem. Like, preemptively. I didn't even say anything to him.”

Enjolras took their plates over to the stove and returned a moment later with the odd combination of two vegetarian tacos and unevenly heated canned string beans. The tacos weren't bad. Grantaire found them a little bland, since Enjolras was a spice-wuss, but they were tasty enough. He had a hard time getting the canned beans down though.

It was a far cry from Enjolras' inedibly soggy scrambled eggs, but Grantaire still made a mental note to resume the cooking lessons at their nearest convenience.

They chatted a bit about Enjolras' work day, and the paper Grantaire had finally finished revising for publication ( the journal was due out in early winter). After dinner, they wound up sitting on Enjolras' bed, Grantaire with his sketchpad and Enjolras with some depressing looking SJW book. Grantaire found himself trailing his hands up and down Enjolras' back, liking the silky feel of the fabric. The blouse dipped low in the back, and he kept dipping his fingers under the material and absently running them along Enjolras' skin.

As such, he was able to feel Enjolras tense up when the front door opened. They heard Feuilly trudge through the apartment, stopping in at the kitchen and then continuing on to his bedroom. Grantaire didn't say anything, but he was disappointed. He'd like to see some sign that Enjolras and Feuilly were getting over their fight and getting back to their old dynamic.

“We need to be up early if we're meeting up with your mother for lunch, don't we?”

Grantaire nodded. “It's a pretty long drive, yeah. Do you want me to get going, or…?”

“If you want to, but I'm not kicking you out. I...wouldn't mind if you stayed. But we'll have to head over to your place tomorrow morning to get your stuff.”

“And the car.”

Enjolras smirked. “Yes, that too. You know, I always forget you can drive. You always walk everywhere. Is that some kind of environmental consciousness? But that doesn't seem right either. You only hang around with activists. You don't actually participate in any of our movements.”

Grantaire arched a brow. “You really haven't figured it out? God, Enj. It's not environmentalism, but I suppose that's a nice side effect.”

“Is it because walking is good for anxiety?”

“It's because I usually get too bombed to drive.”

Enjolras' expression immediately turned more serious, and a lot less comfortable. “Oh. Yes, I should have guessed that.”

“Eh. Between you and the therapy I haven't been drinking myself stupid as much as I used to. I think it's more of a habit at this point. But yeah, that's the real reason I barely drive anywhere. I'm never the go to guy for a DD.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn't be.”

Enjolras went off to the bathroom to wash his face and change into pajamas. Grantaire simply shucked off his jeans and climbed into bed in his boxers and a t-shirt. Enjolras was curled up at his side a few minutes later, just a hint of eyeliner still stubbornly ringing his eyes. He hadn't minded the girlier look at all, but there was something comforting in having Enjolras looking the way Grantaire recognized him. He supposed that was the whole idea of this fluidity thing though; Enjolras was going to look different from time to time, and Grantaire was going to have to roll with it. At least he knew that Enjolras was going to look masculine some of the time too.

Or, as masculine as Enjolras was ever capable of looking.

“Do you think your mother will still like me after an entire afternoon together?”

“Duh, yes.”

“For real, Grantaire. Just because you like me and can see through my rough edges doesn't mean your mother will feel the same.”

“Hey, you can be really charming when you want to be. I've seen you at work handling those yuppies. You got this. Besides, unlike your bitchy customers, Mom's going into this with rose tinted glasses. She wants to like you. I think tomorrow's going to be a little boring, but it shouldn't be too bad. At least we're not having lunch with Dad too.”

“Mm. There is that.” Enjolras leaned up and kissed Grantaire's cheek. “Good night, R.”

“Night.”

* * *

At his heart, Grantaire was still a bit of a shit, so even though he knew Enjolras was worked up about making a good impression, and even though Enjolras spent twice as long getting dressed in the morning as usual, even on days when he wore time consuming and fussy makeup, Grantaire didn't remind him that he was wearing one of Grantaire's shirts. It was one of the many Grantaire had gifted to Enjolras, because it looked undeniably better on him than it did on Grantaire, and he never wore it anyway.

But this particular button down had been a gift from his mother, and Sylvie was definitely going to recognize it. He couldn't wait to see her reaction.

Besides, Enjolras did look good. He'd tied his long hair back into a ponytail, leaving just a bit of his long bangs to frame his face. He'd forgone makeup, but just enough of yesterday's eyeliner had survived careful face washing to call attention to his gorgeous blue-gray eyes. And he'd paired the simple dress shirt with a rather nice looking vest Rose had found for him during their consignment shopping. Enjolras looked ridiculously good in vests, it turned out, and Grantaire was determined to get him to wear them more often. As it was, Grantaire kept sneaking peeks at him while they were on the road, and Enjolras kept huffily reminding him to pay attention despite the fact that there were very few other cars on the highway at that hour on a weekday.

Grantaire noticed a missed call and voicemail from his mother while they were having a bathroom break at a rest stop. He gave it a listen while he was waiting for Enjolras to finish, and was still frowning at his phone, not sure what to make of the call when Enjolras got back from the restroom.

“Is something wrong?”

“Change of plans,” Grantaire said. “Mom doesn't want us to meet her at the restaurant anymore. She said we're going to have lunch at the house. Fuck. I hope she didn't have Dad skip work. Double fuck. She could have any one of my relatives lying in wait to pounce on us and ask stupid prying questions.” The 'or worse' went unsaid. Very few of Grantaire's relatives were okay with him being gay. Even the ones who weren't openly hostile, like his mother, said enough uncomfortable things to him out of sheer obliviousness to ratchet up his anxiety to an uncomfortable level.

His fingers were itching for his flask, but Enjolras had made sure he left it at home. Besides, he was supposed to be driving a lot that day, as they weren't planning on spending the night in Vermont.

Enjolras picked up on the change in Grantaire's mood, and spent the rest of the car ride trying to get him back to emotional equilibrium without calling attention to what he was doing. Somehow, it worked. They talked about music and art and joked around about their friends, and by the time he pulled into town they were somehow both smiling. The nerves returned when he pulled into his driveway, but it was reasonably manageable. More of a background sensation than something he had to really worry about.

It helped that his dad's car wasn't there. There was an obnoxious looking BMW parked behind his mother's little red sports car, but he didn't recognize it. Maybe one of his aunts had been invited to dinner? That looked like something someone on his dad's side might go for. But Sylvie didn't like her in-laws. She wouldn't invite one of them over without the pressure that came from family obligation.

The side door was flung open and Sylvie came running down the steps to greet them before Grantaire managed to collect his thoughts. “Oh, I'm so happy to see you! Come inside, come inside. I have a surprise-Enjolras? Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Grantaire whipped around and saw that Enjolras was still standing beside Grantaire's car with his hand on the door. His complexion had gone the color of sour milk, and he was staring at the BMW. He opened his mouth to say something, faltered, and then closed it.

“Enj, what's…?”

And then a second middle aged woman stepped out of the house and walked down the driveway. She had the same mesmerizing gold hair as Enjolras, and a similarly beautiful face. She stopped just behind Sylvie, looking like she wanted to keep walking but was unsure of her reception. She flexed her slender fingers a few times, possibly in a show of nerves.

Enjolras finally managed to find his voice. “Hi, Mom.”

Oh...shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil author is evil, I know. I'm working on the next chapter now, promise!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit short, but considering the circumstances I didn't think anyone would mind. I'm just settling the cliffhanger here. I'll get to work on a real, full chapter soon.

He didn't know what to do. Grantaire had no idea what to do. He had several things he'd have _liked_ to do, such as; vomiting, grabbing his mother by the shoulders and giving her a good shake, screaming in Enjolras' mother's face that she was possibly the world's worst mother, if not human being, and, at the very top of the list, shoving Enjolras back into the car and driving away from all of that unpleasantness at a very high speed. But he was rooted to the spot.

Besides, it was probably best to follow Enjolras' lead on this one.

Enjolras' mother pressed a hand over her mouth. She whispered something that might have been, “my baby,” and then took a few confident strides forward. Enjolras backed up, then awkwardly slid around the front of the car until he was standing next to Grantaire. He grabbed Grantaire's hand and squeezed it so hard he thought his bones might break. It didn't occur to him for a second to try to wrench himself loose.

“Wait. Darling, I know you're upset with me, but we need to talk. I've been searching for you for weeks-”

“That's funny. Because I've been gone for _months_.” Enjolras' voice was deceptively even. It was obvious to anyone looking at him how shaken he was, but he was trying to put up a good stoic front. Somehow, he was making eye contact with the woman and everything.

“I-I know. I know, and you have every right to be upset with me. Really, I'd be surprised if you weren't.” She stopped abruptly and tilted her head, like she was waiting for him to counter what she was saying. Like she expected him to say that he wasn't upset, that he wanted to reconcile as much as she apparently did. Obviously, that didn't happen.

“Enjolras, we can go if you-”

“No, we should stay,” Enjolras said. He let go of Grantaire's hand, and Grantaire winced and immediately started rubbing it. Enjolras turned one of his more effective glares on his mother. “I need to know what it is you could possibly have to say to me.”

Sylvie, at least, had thankfully picked up on the fact that her meddling had not borne the fruit she was hoping. She walked over to Enjolras' mother and gently touched her arm. “Well, isn't this all a bit tense? Um. Odette, Enjolras, why don't the two of you come inside and sit in the den? We can give you a bit of privacy so you can talk...whatever all this is out, okay?”

Enjolras reached for Grantaire, and once more his grip was rather painful. “I'm not going anywhere alone with her.”

“Yeah, I didn't think that was the best idea either,” Grantaire muttered. He nodded to his mother. “I get what you're going for though.”

Sylvie didn't bother trying to hide her distress this time. She glanced between Enjolras and his mother, then mouthed that she was sorry to Grantaire. “All right then. Let's all head into the den together.” She took Odette's arm, and they disappeared into the house.

“You don't have to go in there, you know.”

Enjolras let out a slow breath. “I-I know. But if I don't...Grantaire, the last time I saw her she said she never wanted to see me again. I can't make sense of this. If things are different...I can't just walk away without knowing.”

Grantaire nodded, and held his hand while they walked up the driveway and into the house. He'd be there for Enjolras and help him pick up the pieces after the fact, no matter what. But this was doing nothing for his desire for a drink. Also, he was pretty sure he was going to need some ice for his hand later on.

Sylvie was hovering by the door to the den when they approached. She looked deeply apologetic, and Grantaire already felt a bit sorry for her. He knew what his mother was like, and whatever stupid impulse that had lead them to this uncomfortable afternoon had likely started out with the best of intentions. She'd probably thought she was doing Enjolras some kind of favor. After all, she'd known he was homeless but she had no idea _why_. Grantaire had told her as little about Enjolras as he could get away with.

He probably could have avoided this if he'd just called his mother more.

Odette was sitting on a sofa by the window, drinking from a glass of wine. There was another glass on the coffee table in front of her, as well as a photo album. From the looks of it, she and Sylvie had been chatting for a bit while they waited for their sons. The photo album wasn't familiar, which meant it was probably Odette's.

Since nothing was going to be easy that day, of course they hadn't left the album open. Now that Grantaire had noticed it, he desperately wanted a look.

Enjolras went to stand by the fireplace. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his gaze trained on the wall opposite him, his back mostly angled away from his mother. Grantaire really wasn't sure what to do, but he was very conscious of his hands swinging uselessly at his side. After hesitating for a moment, he went to stand by Enjolras but left a foot of space between them.

“Um. Would you boys like anything to drink? I can just go...go grab something from the kitchen.” Despite the fact that neither Grantaire or Enjolras expressed any desire for a beverage, Sylvie finished her thought and left the room.

Odette took another sip of her wine, which drained the glass, and set it on the table.

“What did you tell her?” Enjolras asked.

For some reason, Grantaire thought he was the one being addressed so he started to answer, but stopped at the look Enjolras gave him. Right. He already knew Grantaire hadn't told his mother anything. That's why they were in this fucking mess to begin with.

“I told her the truth. That you ran away.”

“Ran away?” Enjolras swiveled around to face her, his arms dropping to his sides. “I didn't run away. You and Dad told me you never wanted to see me again. I've interpreted that as you throwing me out. And you did it after I came to you for help.”

“I never said that.”

“Mom, don't you think I remember what happened?”

“I remember too.” Odette rose to her feet. She was trembling and flexing her fingers again, but her eyes were as steely and focused as her son's. “Your father did a lot more speaking than I did, like he always does. And you do love to make us into one massive monster, don't you? I never would have said anything like that because it's not true. You're my _son_ , Enjolras, my only child. I've been worried sick. I-I tried to find you. I swear I did. But you'd left school-”

“Of course I left school. You and Dad kicked me out. I couldn't afford Harvard on my own.”

Grantaire just managed to keep his mouth from falling open, but it was a close thing. He'd known Enjolras had attended a fancier school than him, but he'd had no idea it was a fucking Ivy.

Also, yeah, even with his raise, working at the Musain really wasn't going to make a dent in Harvard tuition.

“I did not kick you out,” Odette insisted. “That was your _father_.”

Enjolras' lip curled. “From my end it looked like you were acting in tandem. And even if you weren't, you didn't do a damn thing to stop him.”

“So, I have drinks! Drinks for everyone.” Sylvie walked into the room, with a fake smile and bottles of mineral water. She pressed one into everyone's hand (Grantaire strategically gripped the cold glass to help with his sore hand), grasped Odette's arm, and tugged her down onto the sofa, taking the cushion just beside her. “I was just thinking to myself that there's probably not a decorous solution to this unpleasantness that's going to let any of us save face, now is there? Odette, did you possibly misrepresent things to me while we've been talking? You made it sound like Enjolras was going to be happy to see you, and that's clearly not the case.”

“Mom, you knew he was crashing with me because he had nowhere else to go. What made you think he was on good terms with his parents?” Grantaire asked.

“Well I knew he wasn't on good terms with his father,” Sylvie said, only a hint of defensiveness in her tone, which was unexpected and kind of nice. Grantaire was expecting her to be _way_ more defensive about her blunder. “And all things considered, that's something I can relate to. It's hard, being married to a man whose harshness drives a wedge between you and your children. I thought I had a clearer idea of what was going on than I appear to.”

Odette's eyes flickered from face to angry face and then she lowered her gaze and pressed a hand to her temple. “I suppose I gave you the simplest version of the story I could after you reached out to me. But I wasn't trying to deceive you, Sylvie. I-I never was as bad as, that is, I never said or did anything as hurtful as my husband. It's his fault, really. He sacrificed our family. He's the one who did this, not me.”

Enjolras drew a quick breath, and Grantaire tensed, ready for some kind of explosion of verbal fury. To his great surprise, none came. Enjolras turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

He was striding quickly down the hall and towards the staircase when Grantaire caught up with him. “The lock on your bedroom, it's a good one, right? They won't be able to force it, will they?” Enjolras' eyes were wide, and Grantaire was struck with the impression of a frightened animal in a trap. It was doing nothing for his stomach, which felt like it was trying to jostle its way free from his intensely nervous body.

“Mom wouldn't even try. She's always respected it when I've shut myself in there. Why? Don't you want to-”

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's wrist and held it in front of his eyes. That's when he saw how badly his own hand was shaking. “Neither of us can drive right now. But I can't stay in that room any longer, because I'd rather not strike my mother if I can help it.”

“Right.”

Grantaire locked them into his bedroom, then watched helplessly as Enjolras paced around the room, tugging at his hair and letting out all sorts of half-started, furious exclamations. After a few terrifying minutes of this he collapsed onto Grantaire's bed and pulled a pillow over his face.

Cautiously, Grantaire crossed the room and sat down next to him on the mattress. He gave the mineral water bottle one more good rub against his sore palm, then set it on the windowsill. “What should I do? Is there anything I even can do right now?”

Enjolras removed the pillow and stared up at Grantaire. He almost looked calm, if you ignored the wounded look in his eyes. “I don't think so. But I am glad you're with me.”

“Honestly, Enj, where else would I be? I'm sorry about my mom.”

“It's not your fault. You tried to stop this, after all. We just weren't fast enough.” Enjolras rolled onto his side and hugged the pillow to his chest. “I wonder what my mom told yours. She can't have said anything like the truth.”

“Nah, if Mom knew what your parents put you through there's no way she'd be reaching out to your mom and trying to get you guys to reconcile. Like, Mom's not great at judging character or anything, but when that level of assholishness is called to her attention she doesn't ignore it.” Grantaire frowned. “So your mom's going to put everything on your dad, huh? Well that's certainly a strategy. Isn't she the one who decided you can't be raped if you're a gay guy?”

“Yeah, that was her. I think she was jealous. I...I'm pretty positive Mom and Felix have been sleeping together for some time.”

Grantaire had wondered about that, based on a few things Enjolras had said when talking about the two of them. If Felix and Odette had some sort of bizarre forbidden thing going on, no wonder he'd gotten so fixated on Enjolras. They looked alike, with the obvious exception of Enjolras being much younger and male.

He couldn't help but wonder what kind of relationship Enjolras' father actually had with his supposed bestie. This level of fucked-up-edness went a bit beyond frenemies.

Before Grantaire could string together any kind of coherent thought, there was a knock on his door. He looked at Enjolras, who turned away from him and hugged the pillow even tighter to his chest, then climbed to his feet and walked over to the door. “We're not coming out.”

“How long does he need to calm down?” Odette's voice, though higher in pitch, had some of the same flavor and intonation as her son's. It was a bit disturbing, really. Grantaire had heard _exactly_ that sort of huffiness from his boyfriend more times than he could count.

Grantaire glanced over his shoulder at his trembling boyfriend, then faced towards the door again. “Personally, I'm not in favor of letting him near you until you learn to take some fucking responsibility and actually apologize for what you put him through. And none of that bullshit, 'sorry if your feelings were hurt,' crap either. Like a real, sincere understanding that you failed him in every way possible and you know you were fucking wrong and you're not going to try to make yourself out as the victim but you're going to try to do better, starting by actually acknowledging what happened to him. But if you're not willing to play ball and you're only going to hurt him more, then kindly fuck right off. He's got enough to deal with just from how badly you failed in September. Not to mention the two decades of prologue bullshit.”

He waited, but there was no response. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of high heels striking the hardwood floors as Odette made a hasty retreat.

Grantaire resumed his place beside Enjolras on the bed. He carefully took out the elastic holding his hair back and then carded his fingers through the wavy strands. “Just let me know if I'm overstepping. If you want to to yell at her yourself, I can choke on my anger for a bit.”

“No, that was good. That's...you nailed it. That's what I was hoping to hear from her. She's spent my whole life convincing me my feelings weren't trustworthy and that my discomfort didn't matter. I want her to tell me she gets it now, and that she believes me. I-I'd hoped that's why she was here.”

“I gotta admit, Enj. I'm curious about why she's here too. I mean, if she's not here to man up and be a better fucking person about this, then what's she trying to pull? If she's been talking to my mom, she must have noticed that you don't need her at the moment. You're taking care of yourself. So if she wants to pull you back into the family, she's gotta offer something to make it worth your while, not just continue to heap on the mind fuckery and abuse. What the fuck is she even doing?”

Enjolras' voice cracked when he spoke. “I don't know. But I don't think I can find out. I just want to get out of here.”

Grantaire bent over and kissed his head. “Lock the door behind me.”

“What?”

Grantaire got up and crossed the room. “I'll go out and gather some intel for you, chief. Stay here and do some deep breathing or whatever.”

“Grantaire, you don't have to-”

“Enj, it's okay. I've still got some choice words left for your mom if she wants to go there. Just stay in here and chill. I'll be back in a bit.”

Enjolras pushed himself into an upright position, still with the pillow clutched to his chest. “Th-thank you.”

Grantaire offered him a smile that probably looked a bit pained, then slipped out of the room and went downstairs.

Their mothers were still in the den, but no cozy chat session was taking place. Odette was pacing irritably around the room, once more bearing a striking resemblance to her son, while Sylvie sat on the sofa, drinking a glass of wine and occasionally shooting her nasty looks.

Sylvie jumped to her feet when Grantaire walked in. “Sweetheart! I didn't expect to see you downstairs so soon. How is Enjolras doing?”

“Not great,” Grantaire answered. He thought about adding more but decided to leave it at that. “I came down here to get some answers for him. We're both kind of wondering what the fuck that woman was thinking.”

“Don't you dare-”

“Odette.” Sylvie got between them, a deceptively friendly but actually kind of scary smile on her face. “Be very careful how you address my son while you're in my house, especially considering you're here under false pretenses. I don't appreciate being lied to, or having my bond with my child sabotaged. I may have played it off as a joke, but it took more effort than I liked to get Grantaire and Enjolras here for this visit. And thanks to you, I just have this nagging feeling that I might never see them again after today. Now, sweet pea, you said you wanted some answers. I'm itching for a solid explanation or two myself.” She turned what was unquestionably a look of loathing on her guest and crossed her arms over her chest.

Odette squared her shoulders, still defiant and obviously defensive. “I don't know what you expect me to say. My son ran away in the fall, after fighting _with my husband_. Not me. I've spent weeks trying to find him, and when a dear friend told me that he was involved with one of her friend's children, and that the mother wanted to talk to me, I jumped at the chance. I'm here because I want to see Enjolras and know that he's okay. He...he looks well. His hair is a bit long.”

“He's been growing it out,” Grantaire said. “He looked like shit when I first met him though. He was half-starved and he wasn't sleeping, what with staying at a skeevy ass homeless shelter. Oh, and park benches some of the time, since the shelter fills up when the weather's bad.”

Sylvie let out an audible gasp and pressed a hand over her mouth. “Jesus. He was thinner in December, wasn't he?” She gave herself a little shake, then addressed Odette again. “You know, when you insist that Enjolras ran away while he's saying he was thrown out, it doesn't actually make you sound any better, hon. I mean, if he voluntarily chose a park bench over your house...”

Odette narrowed her eyes in dislike. “We talked about this, Sylvie. Both our sons make choices that we'd rather they not. They seem to like hurting themselves to hurt those that care about them.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “God, I didn't think it was possible, but you're even more self-absorbed than _my_ relatives. You should be groveling, by the way. You've been a fucking monster. Own it and apologize.”

“Listen, you snotty little-”

“Odette, sweetie, I'm going to have to stop you there. Again. Now, I still don't have much of an idea of what's going on, but right now the boys seem like the injured party here. I'm siding with them.” Sylvie placed a hand on Grantaire's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He did his best to hide his surprise, since it definitely worked in his favor to present a unified front to Odette.

But damn. He did not expect this kind of support from his mother.

Odette glared at the both of them and then resumed her pacing. “Look, Enjolras came to us with some wild story. He's always disliked a very good friend of ours, and he told an unforgivably awful lie to get us to try to end our friendship with him. It was underhanded and cruel. I'd never thought he could be so vicious as to attack such a good friend so personally. And I'll be the first to admit, my husband overreacted. He pushed Enjolras away when he needed our help. But I'm not my husband. I don't deserve to be attacked for what he did.”

Grantaire involuntarily squeezed his hands into fists, and only realized it when the one Enjolras had used as a stress toy flared with pain. “I can attack you plenty for what you did all by yourself. Protecting your son's rapist and trying to make him think he's crazy is pretty fucking despicable all on its own, you useless fucking cow.”

“Oh for the love of...is that what he told you?” Odette pressed a hand to her temple, then rolled her eyes. “No wonder he's got you worked into such a state. Enjolras was _not..._ that didn't happen, okay? He's never liked our dear Felix, and rather than respecting him as a family friend, he concocted that insidious lie to try to get rid of him once and for all.”

Sylvie's hand was still resting on Grantaire's shoulder. She squeezed a bit harder than she meant to, her long, carefully manicured fingernails digging into his shoulder a bit. “Okay, I think I'm starting to understand what's going on here. So your son came to you saying that he'd been... _horribly_ attacked by some friend of yours, and you sided with the friend? Jesus fucking Christ, woman. No wonder he left home!”

“Well, I see the boys' little stories work on you. You don't even know Felix. If you did, you'd understand how far fetched it sounds, to even suggest that he'd...I can't even say it. It's too horrible. No, it wasn't believable in the least.”

“I really need to insist you leave this house and never return to it.” Sylvie dropped her hand from Grantaire's shoulder and walked around the room, gathering Odette's things for her. “I don't know what kind of defect you have, that makes you think some pervert, even an old friend, is more important to you than the health and well being of your only child, but as that is the case I have _no interest_ in having any kind of friendship with you. I want you to leave the boys alone. Enjolras has been a wonderful partner to my son and they are flourishing together. If you get in the way of that, I will do everything in my power to make you regret it. Now get out of my house.” She all but threw Odette's coat and purse at her.

Odette glared at the both of them, then stalked out of the house and slammed the front door behind her. A moment later, they heard the BMW peel out of the driveway and down the street.

Sylvie's hands were shaking. She started crying barely a second after they heard the car roar away. “Oh sweetie, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. No idea! She seemed so...so lovely when we were first talking, and she was so charming and made it out like we had so much in common. All our insecurities, everything we shared, it sounded like she _loved_ him and worried about him as much as I love and worry about you. I would never in a million years have invited her if I'd had an inkling of a suspicion of the truth. I'm sorry, Grantaire. And if he doesn't hate me entirely, I want to apologize to Enjolras too.”

“Mom, it's...” Grantaire sighed, and then very reluctantly initiated a hug for the first time since he was a small child. Sylvie let out a surprised squeak and then squeezed him tightly. “It's not okay, really. But you actually handled that really well once you realized what an evil asshole she was. I wish Enjolras had heard some of that, actually. He said one of the worst things about everything that happened is that no one believes him.”

“That poor child...oh, sweetheart. Is there anything I can do to help? Does he need anything else for his kitchen? I've seen some lovely tableware – wait, let me show you. I have some catalogs in the living room.”

“Enj is a little different from us, Mom. He doesn't really do retail therapy.”

Sylvie wiped at her eyes. “Oh. Of course not. Well, you said he likes books. Are there any books I could get him?”

“Mom, that's still retail therapy. Retail therapy means shopping to make yourself feel better.”

“Oh, right. Well, if he does want anything please let me know. Oh, I feel awful. This just, this didn't go at all how I'd planned. She told me they'd fought but she said she was going to apologize. I thought they were going to have a beautiful reconciliation. What a conniving, underhanded, deceitful-”

“Mom?” Grantaire was tempted to snap his fingers next to her face, as she'd clearly disappeared into her own head. “I gotta admit, this whole thing seems really weird to me. Like, she clearly wasn't into the idea of owning any of her shit, and, well, Enjolras said his family is homophobic. I still don't get why she was here. She can't have been happy to have learned that her kid found a boyfriend.”

Sylvie's brow furrowed. “We did talk a little about our surprise when we found out our boys were gay, but...but she made it sound like she had the same feelings I did. That we were merely worried you were both going to have a more difficult time in life than you needed to. That, that you would be discriminated against, or even attacked. She's homophobic?”

“Yep. She also thinks gay people can't be raped by men. Like, if you're gay then obviously you want all man on man sex ever and can't say no. Which, I gotta say, if you talk to Enjolras at all you should be able to tell that's not true. He is not a big fan of strangers flirting with him, looking at him the wrong way, or god forbid trying to touch him.”

“Well of course not, if that's what happened to him. Oh, the poor thing. Are you sure he doesn't want any new books?”

Sylvie continued in that vein for another fifteen minutes, trying to come up with ways to cheer Enjolras up that inevitably bore more similarity to what she herself would like to do while upset than anything Enjolras was interested in. Grantaire finally managed to excuse himself from the uncomfortable conversation when he said he wanted to go upstairs and check on Enjolras. He gave his mother another hug, then ran upstairs and knocked on his bedroom door.

Enjolras unlocked it almost instantly. This was explained when Grantaire saw the pile of pillows and blankets on the floor just in front of the door. Enjolras had changed into one of Grantaire's old t-shirts, one so ratty that even he had thought it better off left at home than in his current wardrobe while at school. Enjolras' arms were bare and there were faint pressure marks on his biceps, no doubt from squeezing his arms convulsively while waiting for Grantaire to come back.

Grantaire locked the door behind him, more for Enjolras' peace of mind than any expectation that Sylvie might interrupt them, then settled into the pile of pillows and blankets. Enjolras immediately crawled into his arms and burrowed close.

“Your mom's a hag. She's gone, by the way.”

“I know. I heard the door slam and the car...I hope she's okay. She was probably too upset to drive.”

Grantaire wasn't proud of himself, but he kind of hoped she'd wrap the car around a telephone pole or something. No, that was a terrible thought. He didn't really want that to happen.

Enjolras might be even more sad if that happened.

“Mom's really sorry about everything. She's siding firmly with us.”

“Really?” Enjolras leaned back a little and wiped at his eyes. “I'd thought for sure...if they've been talking for even a week, my mother should have poisoned her completely against me.”

“That's the thing, Enj. Outside of your idiot fucking parents who betrayed you, you're very credible.”

“No one ever believes rape survivors. That's, like, the first thing you learn when you look into rape culture. That's a huge chunk of what rape culture even is.”

“Yeah, well...we believe you.” Grantaire gave him a little squeeze. “And your family sucks.” He told Enjolras the quick version of what had happened downstairs, not lingering very long on Odette's continued failure to take responsibility for anything or her desire to manipulate Enjolras back into her family, but getting him to smile a few times by focusing on how much his mother wanted to take him shopping as a way to make amends.

“Did she really say we were flourishing together?”

“Yeah. Even from a distance and with me on silent most of the time, she thinks we're good for each other. I think Rose has been reporting to her.”

“Mm. She must be.” Enjolras frowned. “I think...I think I actually do like your mother. She's complicated though. She was taken in by my mother without giving it much critical thought, and she's clearly very nosy and not respectful of other peoples' privacy, and she doesn't protect you from your father's verbal abuse at all. But she has some good qualities too.”

“Yeah, that's how most dysfunctional families are. There's good and bad. Dad's actually got some good traits too. When I was a kid and I was getting bullied, he raised hell with the school until they did something about it. Like, he bullies me at home but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. If anyone else goes after me, he goes for the throat.”

“Hm. In their own weird way, they do want the best for you. That must be nice.”

Grantaire felt his heart break a little at the forlorn way Enjolras said that. He gave him other tight squeeze. “Yeah, it-it is. Um…even though today sucked, d'ya wanna have lunch with Mom anyway?”

“Actually, yes. I think I'd like that. I should probably change back into the dress shirt though.”

Grantaire left Enjolras in the room to tidy himself back up and went downstairs to talk to his mother. Her face lit up when she found out the boys still wanted to have lunch with her. “I was sure this was all going to go to waste. Oh, he doesn't hate me? I'm so relieved. Did you tell him about the books? Does he want any books?”

“Mom, Rose already dragged him out shopping last week. I think that's all he can take for awhile. There really are people who don't like going on shopping trips.”

Sylvie's expression was a clear 'does-not-compute' but she finally dropped the subject. When Enjolras came downstairs, once more looking very respectable in his nice shirt and vest with his hair pulled back, Sylvie showed them both into the dining room.

It actually turned out pretty pleasant, all things considered. Sylvie was careful not to broach any subjects she suspected to be a bit too tender for polite conversation. She served them a home cooked meal that was far more satisfying to Grantaire than any of the menu options at the restaurant they'd initially chosen, and then they settled into the den with coffees.

Enjolras' eyes finally landed on the photo album, which was still sitting on the coffee table. “Oh. My mother must have left this.” Once more, Grantaire's fingers itched for the book.

“Ah, yes. We were looking at pictures of the two of you from when you were children.” Sylvie's face colored, and she let out a self-conscious sigh. “And here I'd thought I might have finally made a mommy-friend. I've never had one of those before. All of Grantaire's aunts like to look down their fat noses at me, and the mothers we met through school were...well, if you'll excuse my language, catty bitches. I never fit in with them.” She took a sip of her coffee and ran her fingernails down the cover of the book. “You were an adorable child, Enjolras. I love the pictures of you making your little sand walls at the beach.”

“They were fortifications,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire had to choke back a laugh.

“Were you playing general, or social uprising?” Grantaire teased.

“They're not mutually exclusive, you know.”

“Can I look through the book?”

Enjolras frowned. “Only if I get to look at your old pictures.”

Sylvie got up and retrieved an album from a cabinet in the corner. “That can easily be arranged.”

“Oh god. Urgh. Fine, yes, you can look at my baby pictures if you really want to.” Grantaire snatched up Enjolras' photo album before he could regret his promise and started thumbing through the pictures.

The first few pages showed Odette at different stages of pregnancy, and there were a few images from her ultrasound. Then there was a little card with Enjolras' baby footprints stamped to it, and then finally some pictures of him as a baby.

He was definitely going to tease Enjolras about the fact that he'd been born with a full head of hair. It was brown, and had clearly fallen out and grown in blond after the fact, but it seemed no matter what stage of life he was at, Enjolras always had beautiful hair.

The expansive album was a clear testament to the life of an affluent and much fussed over only child. There were pictures of Enjolras in expensive day cares and private schools, working with private tutors, and winning all sorts of awards. Very few pictures showed him playing, and the few he found showed a lonely looking child with a pile of books. There were never any friends or cousins or anything, just Enjolras and a handful of adults.

Grantaire knew the contents of the album Enjolras was eagerly flipping through, and knew how oddly they contrasted each other. He and Rose each had photo albums dedicated to them, but they also featured in each other's albums. Along with cousins, friends, former classmates, and all sorts of neighborhood kids. There were pictures of sleepovers, camping trips, fishing trips, days out to amusement parks and yes, a few of the sorts of things Enjolras' family had found worth photographing. Grantaire knew his fifth grade science fair project was immortalized, for example. But so was the first time he'd lost a tooth, and so were twenty three years' worth of Christmas mornings, though the most recent had been digitally captured and put in a Facebook album.

He was about to close the album and return it to the coffee table when his eyes landed on a troubling snapshot. Enjolras looked to be about three or four years old, so Grantaire guessed he was likely about seven or eight, considering he always appeared younger than he was. Despite how small he was, his face was so expressively identical to his adult self when he was in a mood that Grantaire almost wanted to laugh. What stopped him was the fact that he was clearly pissy looking because he was seated on a man's lap, and he very much did not want to be there.

The man had his hand on the little boy's thigh. It was likely just to hold him in place for the picture, but in light of everything Grantaire knew, the image made him want to throw up.

He closed the album with a snap and put it on the table as though it had bit him.

Enjolras was right. Felix Tholomyès was not a looker. He had an ugly face to go with his ugly soul.

Enjolras was actually smiling when he set Grantaire's photo album next to it. “You were an expressive little boy, R. I love the faces you're making in most of the pictures.”

Grantaire managed to recover himself, and forced out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Well you should see my middle school pics. I don't think you can though, since I'm flipping off the camera in every single on of them. Mom told me she couldn't keep them if I did that, so I made sure to do it every time.”

“Other than your school pictures, I think I have three nice photos of you from the ages of twelve to seventeen.” Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Would you boys mind if I took a picture of you now?”

“Um...sure. I guess.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who shifted closer to him as an assent. Grantaire wrapped an arm around him, and they both smiled at Sylvie, who was aiming her phone at them.

And then, just to be an asshole, Grantaire flipped her the bird.

“Grantaire!”

“What? You must have expected that.”

Enjolras lightly guffed him upside the head. “Don't be a brat. We don't actually have any pictures together yet and I'd like one.”

“Okay, fine. I'll behave.”

For the second one he gave Enjolras bunny ears.

“ _Grantaire_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In conclusion, Odette's motivations are still eluding me. I can tell she's growing a bit, but she's going at far too slow a rate for Enjolras right now, and I don't think I'm going to throw them together again any time soon.
> 
> Sylvie, on the other hand, is pleasantly surprising me. I honestly started writing this part without knowing how it was going to go at all, and I think she stepped up as well as she could considering how inappropriate her actions were leading up. One thing I've picked up about her the past few days is that Grantaire hasn't been judging her fairly from his teen years on, and that Rose has been a bit more perceptive about their family than he has. But is anyone really surprised that Grantaire has the most defeatist and cynical viewpoint possible about something? :P

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to comment! It encourages me to continue :)
> 
> Thanks in advance for any feedback and kudos!


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